Autopsy Atrocities
by JMK758
Summary: Over the years Donald Mallard has used his skills to piece together evidence which has solved the most puzzling mysteries. But now his skills are the modus operandi, and clues point to one of his best friends.
1. Cause of Death

This is my fifteenth NCIS Mystery and the fourth of my Second Season. The list of stories was getting so extensive I moved them, with synopses, to my profile.  
When Jimmy Palmer was wounded in 'Butterfly Affair', Ducky took on a temporary assistant until his return to active duty. Since Jimmy left the hospital in 'Salarium' and immediately got married, Samantha Sky's tenure with NCIS has been briefly extended.  
Therefore, there are a lot more Ducky scenes in 'Salarium', 'Nosferatu' and here than in my previous stories, since I now have the opportunity to show him as a teacher.  
The usual legal disclaimers apply.  
Please Review - but don't give away the surprises.  
Rating: T or NCis-17. Death, Intrigue and Mystery.

The Autopsy Atrocities  
By JMK758  
Chapter One  
Cause of Death

"Finally!" Annette Sollecito exclaims as Paul angles their car into the driveway under the banner proclaiming 'Welcome Home, Kevin'. Every minute of these past seven hours has been a torment, and the fact that she'd agreed to them doesn't help her mood. "You are never going to talk me into this ever again. Three years he's been gone, and you drag me out of the house three days after he's–"

"Now Anni, we agreed. Christine's a nice girl and she's waited as long as we have. It didn't hurt much to allow them a few hours privacy to get reacquainted after the boy spent a year in that hell hole they call Iraq."

"'Reacquainted' you call it. They probably spent the day f–"

"I'd be disappointed if they didn't, I gave them the chance."

"_Paul_!"

"The boy's twenty one years old, and the note we left said quite clearly we'll be back at three. If we interrupt anything, they've got no one to blame but themselves. Now come on," he opens the door, "let's get in there and continue the reunion," he gets out and turns back to his frowning wife, "before they make us grandparents."

"Paul Sollecito, you are the worst–!"

"Yes, dear."

x

He goes to the side door of the house, giving her little choice but to follow. Stepping under the ivy covered trellis he unlocks the door, opens it and reaches for the kitchen light. "We're back!" he announces loudly, giving the young couple fair warning.

"Come on," Annette says behind them, "you sound like you expect them to be jumping into their pan–"

They freeze, horrified by the sight of Kevin Sollecito laying upon the round kitchen table, his bare legs draped over the left edge. He's naked, his torso cut open and spread wide, but his body is empty. Blood covers everything; body, table, floor and the ropes that bind his ankles to the table legs, others secure his wrists above his head.

Annette's shriek is deafening. Paul feels her body slump against his back and slide to the floor, but he can't take his eyes off the still body of his son, splayed wide and awash in blood.

xxx

When Leroy Jethro Gibbs enters the bullpen he finds his team gathered before the plasma screen between DiNozzo and McGee's desks, watching a news bulletin. "What's so interesting?" It had better be work-related.

Tony uses the remote control to raise the volume another point. The scene is a helicopter view of a highway where four Maryland Police units and an ambulance surround an eighteen wheel tractor trailer. Though traffic moves slowly on the opposite side, all cars are cut off from the right side of the highway. The vantage is wide enough to show a long white sheet about ten feet behind the truck.

"…and police have not charged the driver of the trailer in what is described as a horrendous accident." DiNozzo mutes the sound and reports in his succinct though non-stop manner.

"Highway 1, Maryland heading north to College Park, blue van was traveling 65 on the right and half a length ahead of the tractor trailer. Nothing special until the side door slides open and this woman comes flying out; she barely hits the road when she's under nine wheels. Driver didn't have any time to react; by the time he could stop she was squished behind him."

"No one has a description of the van beyond the general," Ziva puts in. "The truck driver was the only one to see it and he could not provide a license number or anything else. He was too busy standing on the brake."

"Tragic. Gear up." He's annoyed when three faces turn to him, all bearing equally surprised looks, as though by coincidence they had stumbled upon their next case. "Corporal up in Petworth was found murdered in his kitchen."

As they turn, McGee catches sight of the clock on the wall across the room: 1600. Quitting time.

xxx

Gibbs and McGee are in the Charger, leading the blue and white MCRT van with Tony behind the wheel. DiNozzo had pulled rank to get there. The only thing worse than Ziva David's driving is when she is driving while she's mad and today she's renewed her attack upon McGee.

He had been reticent to discuss any of the details of last night's date with Siobhan O'Mallory, which had actually been a more unfortunate choice than giving in to Tony's probing questions. There had been no way at all to avoid angering his former love, something McGee is certain that Tony had known in advance.

While they travel, followed by the black and white M.E. van driven by Ducky, McGee sets up a speaker phone link between the three vehicles and Gibbs fills them in on what he has on the case.

It's a short conversation.

xx

When they arrive at the house, the first thing of note is the huge welcoming banner spread across the driveway. Waiting almost under it is a tall man with a thin brown moustache and a trench coat that could easily be cliché, but nothing about the man seems to allow that impression. The hard driving force that characterizes him is like a slap to the face.

"What've you got, Carp?"

MPDC Homicide Lieutenant Jeffrey Carpenter shakes his head, addressing his words to Ducky. "A bloody mess. Looks like someone started without you."

Ducky glances up at the banner stretched across the driveway before the garage before asking Carpenter: "In what way did he start without me?"

Carpenter just shakes his head, apparently not wanting to say how until they get inside. When he turns to Gibbs the taller man confirms: "He came through three years in the service including a year in combat in Iraq without a scratch to be killed in his own kitchen."

x

"Hi, Detective Carpenter!" Samantha Sky, carrying a black satchel from the back of the M.E. van, adds greetings just as enthusiastic to the members of the MCR team. She takes a half-step toward the tall man but Ducky's firm expression halts her, makes her take that step back again.

She's in typical high spirits; Gibbs is reminded by the girl of the overenthusiastic puppy his daughter Kelly had once owned. She's also proven herself to be a more frequent hugger than even Abby, but under Ducky's guidance she's toned that down to more appropriate occasions, though she does seem to have trouble keeping her natural inclinations in check. He's annoyed to see that under her open coat she wears a brief green dress and equally inappropriate high heeled shoes to the scene. They may add three inches to her five - two stature but Ducky is still taller than she. "This is how you dress for a crime scene?"

"No, this is how I dress for a date," she counters, brushing a windblown lock of pale blonde hair from her pale blue eyes. "I was halfway out the door when you called, no time to get into my jumper." She's limited to a choice of extra-small scrubs or the small coveralls; the scrubs are actually a better fit.

x

"Good afternoon, Sammy," DiNozzo's voice is melting butter as he tries to defuse the tension, having no problem with her attire. He'd seen that aborted motion and wouldn't have minded a hug, but he'll conspire to get two later. He still doesn't hide his continuing attraction for the petite woman, despite Ziva's clear attentions. Sammy had shot down his attempts in the first day of their acquaintance, but he hasn't given up; though she's turned him down nine times in these past three weeks, he's intrigued by the challenge. He notes that in those heels she's only nine inches shorter than he. He wonders if she'd give in, despite her stated intent not to date someone as tall as he, if she had stilettos. "How are you?"

"Just ducky, thanks," she replies with a broad grin, her initial annoyance switched off.

He has to restrain himself from wincing – that'd do nothing for his chances, but with this young woman, the attraction game has its interesting challenges, her bright, unflagging good humor being one of them.

Then again, if he can keep her in a good mood (hardly a challenge) when he asks her next time, maybe ten will be the charm.

xx

The sight that greets them as they enter through the side door is enough to dampen everyone's spirits. Kevin Sollecito is tied on the sturdy table by ropes that secure ankles and wrists to the table legs. His arms reach over his head, bent at the elbows. His torso is spread wide; the sternum and ribs are missing, as are almost all of the organs from his body. There's a tall trash bin beyond the head of the table, but no one wants to be the first to look inside.

There's a lot of blood on table and floor, but no clear footprints, only smears upon the floor.

Ducky doesn't get closer to the body as Ziva commences taking pictures.

"My people have a load of pictures already," Carpenter days. "I'll e-mail them to you."

"Thanks, Carp." Gibbs is glad of the detective's cooperation; his work with Carpenter is vastly different from the turf wars he has had with other agencies. Theirs is a long cooperative history, each having helped the other with numerous cases through the years. He turns to the M.E. "What do you think, Duck?"

"Well, as you no doubt perceive, it is a classic post mortem. Commence with a 'Y' cut from each shoulder to upper chest, then divide the body from sternum to groin, use bolt cutters or saw to remove the sternum and ribs and proceed from there."

Samantha, standing beside him, says "I never imagined coming to a crime scene and having the killer start our jobs _for_ us." Ducky turns to her, his expression sharp. "Inappropriate?"

"Extremely." He has to admit, however, that if she hadn't said it, Agent DiNozzo might have.

He takes the black bag from Sammy, sets it on the counter beside the sink and pulls out a set of face masks. "Everybody staying in this room put on one of these. We must be particularly cautious of infectious germs, particularly as the intestines are missing." Some of the uniformed officers take the opportunity to depart into the next room where the parents sit sequestered.

x

Mallard closes to get a better view of the body as Sammy goes around the other side of the table, the M.E.s taking over the scene. They find the lungs, heart, diaphragm, liver, kidneys, stomach, pancreas, large and small intestines are missing, but they needn't look far for them; a glance into the tall wastebasket beside the table seems to account for most if not all. A vast amount of blood covers the body, has run down the sides to cover the table and drip down to the smeared floor.

Samantha can't get too close, not wanting to get blood on her green shoes and regretting the oversight of not changing back when the call had come in. Embarrassed, she decides to go out and change in the van after the initial examination.

"There is considerable chaffing to the ankles and wrists," Ducky reports grimly. "Corporal Sollecito apparently struggled violently before his demise."

"An awful lot of blood," Gibbs steps around the table to come up beside Sky.

"Indeed, far more than you will ever see at a post mortem, and I think you can understand why," he looks up. "Our young Corporal was _alive_ when the procedure was begun, that is the reason for the abundance of blood. My initial finding for Cause of Death, Jethro, is 'Autopsy'."

x

"I called you as soon as we settled the scene," Jeffrey Carpenter says, standing opposite and a few feet behind Ducky and speaking through his blue mask. "I knew you'd want to see it right away, seeing how you're involved."

NCIS had been called because Sollecito is a Marine, so "What do you mean?" Gibbs asks.

"Wasn't talking to you, LeeJay, I was talking to the doc."

Ducky looks back, having no love of extra mysteries. "In what way am _I_ involved?"

The detective steps closer and pulls from an evidence bag a clipboard enclosed in plastic, several pages attached to the brown wood. "The guy who did this autopsy, he signed the report."

"He did _what_?" Gibbs demands. It's never this easy.

"We were wondering if you might actually save us some work and bring him, though I'd've been amazed if he came."

"And why would we bring him?" Gibbs is losing patience with the foreplay, about to reach across the table and grab the board but Carpenter holds it so Ducky can see the first page.

"It's your Assistant M.E., Jimmy Palmer."


	2. Nightmare

Chapter Two  
Nightmare

The words blast through the room and Ducky snatches the board out of the man's hand. The front page is the typical cover sheet of a Post Mortem Report, detailing the specifics of the deceased. Extensive detail will follow on each successive page, but the cover tells such information as name, location of body, cause of death (blank) and other initial details to be expounded upon in the appropriate sections. It also contains the signature of the Medical Examiner.

"I don't believe this!" Ducky's outrage cools quickly; the handwriting is little more than a scrawl but it's quite unfamiliar. "No, this is definitely _not_ Mr. Palmer's signature. Furthermore, he uses 'James' on official documents."

"You'd swear to that?" Jeff Carpenter asks.

Ducky looks up, his eyes hard with anger, "I just did." His attention is diverted to Gibbs, who has his cell phone out. "Mr. Palmer is on his _Honeymoon_."

"I know," Gibbs assures him. "I'm eliminating him as a suspect right now."

"I've just _told_ you the handwriting is not–!" he cuts off at Gibbs' upraised hand.

"Michelle, Gibbs. Is Jimmy there?" a long pause, "well, where _is _he?" Beat. "He's in the bathroom?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Ducky comes around the table, astonishing Gibbs by actually plucking the phone from his ear. Gibbs glares at him, too astounded to be mad, but Ducky shuts him out of his attention. "Hello, Miss Lee?"

/Mrs. _Palmer_,/ her smile carries so clearly in her tone.

"Yes, of course, I'm terribly sorry," this is going to take some getting used to. "I was wondering, I'm so sorry to interrupt your honeymoon like this, especially for so trivial a matter, but I was wondering if I might speak to Mr. – that is, to your husband."

/Sure, he just got out of bed, he'll be out in a moment./

"Bed?" he does a rapid calculation, "it must be about 11:45 in the morning, why would you still be in bed?" He's annoyed to hear both Michelle and Sammy giggle at him, one in each ear.

/Doctor, when I get back I _really_ must see about getting you a date./

"Ah! Well - that is –"

/Here's Jimmy,/ her voice comes from further away. /It's Doctor Mallard./ Ducky can hear the sounds of the phone being transferred from hand to hand.

/Doctor, is anything wrong?/

"No, not at all, my boy; I'm sorry to interrupt your – well – that is – your … well, it's so trivial that …"

/What is it?/

"Well, we require some … some supplies, and have quite run out of latex gloves for Ms. Sky, extra small. You met her, briefly, at your wedding. I could not locate the name of the shipping clerk you deal with for expedited deliveries. You would probably be back if I waited for the normal delivery."

/No problem. Call Pete Riverhead at 202-555-2681, he'll rush the shipment overnight./

"Thank you. I'm sorry to disturb you."

/No problem. How's Sky doing? Thinking of replacing me and I'll stay in Hawaii?/

"Heaven forbid! Here, you can chat with her, I have to … go up to the Squad Room, see Agent Gibbs." Too late, he realizes the Caller-ID will show he's _using_ Gibbs' phone and that Gibbs has already spoken to Michelle. "I, err, borrowed it before he left and did not manage to…." This is _not_ working! "You two have a good time and I shall see you next week."

x

He quickly passes the phone to the young woman at his side, praying she took his clue not to reveal they're at a crime scene. He's happy to be off the phone, he detested lying to his friend, and trying to come up with a convincing story on such short notice was a horrendous task. It's one thing to be a talented raconteur, but this was unconscionable. He motions Samantha to step away from the table so he can speak to Gibbs without Palmer overhearing, yet still he keeps his voice low.

"So you can see, Jethro, Mr. Palmer is 5,000 miles away."

"I never doubted it. But now he's officially eliminated."

"I'm sorry," Samantha's voice draws their attention, "Dr. Mallard can tell you I'm sometimes a real screw-up," her eyes alight in surprise. "_Really_! Why does he call you that?"

"Miss Sky," Mallard calls across the room.

"Really sorry! Gotta go! Enjoy the honeymoon! We'll see you next week." She closes the phone and confesses to one and all; "I am really _such_ a screw up."

"Why would you say that?" Ducky feels, despite the interruption, that the woman is being a little too harsh with herself.

"I couldn't get that Autopsy report out of my head and I called him Mr. _Jalmer_. He told me only Agent McGee calls him that." She turns to the man across the room. "Why would you call him 'Pimmy Jalmer'?"

McGee lowers the camera. "He, err, he's a character in my books."

"He is?" Her confusion makes it clear she knows nothing of his extra-professional activities.

"The question is," Ducky cuts in, "why would _you_ call him 'Jalmer'?"

She points at the bagged clipboard. "Because that's the name on the report; Pimmy Jalmer."

x

Ducky snatches up the board again, looking more closely. The scrawled signature on the bottom of the page is quite definitely '_Pimmy Jalmer_'. "I should have seen this."

"We all should." Gibbs is annoyed with himself for doing worse than taking things at face value.

"It is a common occurrence," Ducky tells them all, slipping easily into a pedantic mode which is far easier, and more satisfying, than maintaining a string of lies. "The mind takes familiar things and 'fills in the blanks' as it were. Such as when you are reading something, the eyes do not see every individual word or letter. They pass over words and enhance what is expected, which is one reason a person is unwise to proofread his or her own work. We saw 'i' through 'y' and 'a' through 'r'; the mind fills in what belongs there. It took someone who is not familiar with the words to see them clearly." He puts down the board, quite gratified. "Well done, Miss Sky."

"Thanks!" she beams, happy to realize she has provided a vital clue to the investigation, even if the others would've noticed it after about a minute.

"You know what this means," DiNozzo declares.

"We are looking for someone who has read McGee's book or books," Ziva says, "and is living them out."

"Oh, no," McGee can't escape the chill that cuts through him. The murders of Darren Cove and Adrian Corbet, and the near murder of Abby Sciuto, had been bad enough. These had been done by Paul Landon, a supposed friend who was a deeply obsessed fan, who saw them as Cameron Mayer, Jared Brenner and Forensic Scientist Amy Sutton from McGee's novel 'Rock Hollow'.

Gibbs looks at the body of the unfortunate Corporal. "Not again."

x

"I'm sorry, I don't get it," Sammy confesses. "Why call Jimmy Palmer 'Pimmy Jalmer'?"

"Ever read 'Deep Six'?" DiNozzo asks, "it was a best seller for a while."

"Yeah, I started it," she says dismissively, "I thought it stann –" her eyes alight in realization as she looks at McGee, "oh my _God_!"

"Come on," DiNozzo urges, relishing the revelation, "you thought it stank."

"Well, I–" she sees the sting in McGee's eyes and can't say it; but then a way out comes to mind. "Wait a minute," she looks around the room, "Special Agent MacGregor, Officer Lisa – and Special Agent _Tommy_. I thought it was fiction." Her eyes widen with extra realization, this time patently contrived. "_That's_ why you're always trying to get into my panties!"

"All right," Gibbs cuts in sharply, "are you investigators or a book club?"

Sammy, however, can't contain her smile, knowing she's placed embarrassment back where it belongs. She doesn't know why there's such a tense interplay between McGee and DiNozzo, but she resented being a pawn in their chess match.

x

Stalled but not derailed, DiNozzo still wants to know; "What is it about the Probie's books that bring out all the nut cases?"

"It's not my books, Tony."

"Tell that to Cove and Corbet."

"And do not forget the 'Elf Lord'," Ziva reminds him bitingly, unable to forget her own pain. She had stood by him for so long, only to be–

"_Hey_!" Gibbs' bark silences them, he keeps his voice quiet but driving, aware of the parents in the next room. "We have nothing to say this case involves any _book_. Right now, we have witnesses to interview. DiNozzo, you're with me; David, prints; McGee, keep shooting."

Carpenter, standing near the door where he can observe unobtrusively, joins Gibbs and DiNozzo. All three of the uniformed LEOs are already in the living room with the parents, taking statements and collecting other information.

xxx

"Do you believe him?" Jimmy asks his wife as he sets the cell phone back on the night table beside the bed.

"Not a word. You?"

"Hardly. I wonder what's really going on."

Michelle pushes the blanket aside and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up to face her equally unclad husband. "I don't know," she looks along his body up to his face, "and I don't _care_!"

"Still, it's not like–" He's caught by surprise as she jumps up, grabs his shoulders and twists, her leg tangles his and he flies away under her push to bounce upon the bed. She straddles him and pins his wrists to either side of his head.

"Jimmy, we have a deal and you are not going to break it." She leans closer, her right nipple stroking across his lips. "Absolutely _no_ NCIS until we set down at Baltimore Washington on Sunday."

"Then what do you want to do today?" his lips close around her pink nub in a sensual kiss.

"I want you – ohhhh – to make love to me,"

"We just did that," he reminds her, his tongue licking her firming tip, making her shudder. Her heat and moisture where she's straddling him increases.

"on the lip – ahhh! – of Kilauea volcano!"

Surprise makes him stop. He casts his eyes upward but speaks around her hardened nipple, his voice muffled. "That's one of the biggest attractions on the island. Besides being _active__,_ it must get hundreds of visitors a day."

"You are the smartest, most ingenious, most resourceful man I know," she says, touching his face with one hand and reaching back to touch much lower with the other, "I have faith in you."

She knows that, though her fantasy won't literally come true, whatever he comes up with will be even more sizzling.

xxx

"We were out, doing some shopping for the party this weekend," Annette Sollecito says, looking more through than at Gibbs as she sits beside her husband on the living room couch. Gibbs and Carpenter are seated on chairs pulled opposite them, DiNozzo and the three uniformed MPDC officers stand where they may. "Kevin had just come home from Iraq on Saturday. He was seeing his girlfriend today. They saw each other yesterday but Paul got the idea to give them some time alone." Faster than anyone can stop her, she goes from lucid to wild, swinging hard fists at the man at her side. "_You Bastard! If we'd been here_–!"

Paul grabs his wife's wrists, stopping the rain of pounding blows, but she's out of control, kicking and screaming unintelligibly.

"_Mrs. Sollecito_!" Carpenter calls sharply, trying to break through her wild rage. It takes many moments for impotent assault to dissolve into hysterical weeping, and for restraint to change to comforting embrace.

Gibbs gives them a few moments of this, but then "You mentioned a girlfriend." His tone cuts through the pair. He directs a quick, hard glance at Jeff Carpenter; this is the first he's heard of another person in the house.

"Christine DiGiuseppi," Paul says. "They've been dating for years, knew each other since high school. They saw each other last when he shipped out, he kept in touch with her as much, maybe more, than with us."

"Where is she?"

Fearful realization cuts through them as they realize neither had even thought of the young woman since walking into the house. "Oh my God!"

Hysteria drives Annette Sollecito from the couch. "Oh my God! Oh my _God_! He's _got_ her! He's _killed her too_!"

"Annette!"

"Oh my God, she's _dead_! I have to call Charlotte! I have to call Frank!" She rushes for the phone, a police officer steps in front of her. "Get outta my _way_! I have ta _call_ them!"

"Mrs. Sollecito," Carpenter tries.

"Annette!" Paul grabs his wife's arm.

"_**No one is calling **__**ANYBODY**_!" Gibbs' voice slashes through the room like a sword stroke, cutting through the chaotic emotion. Their astonishment at his reverberating command restores order and he continues levelly. "When we have information, Lieutenant Carpenter and I will see her parents and continue the investigation."

"You have to find out who killed our son and Christine too!"

Gibbs steps up to her until they are inches apart, his imposing manner and powerful, calm drive breaking through. "Ma'am, I give you my word, we'll find the bastard that did this."

He knows, however, that he will not be able to conduct a decent interview while the woman is subject to such chaotic fits. "I'd like you to go with Agent DiNozzo, tell him everything you can." Everyone can see how reluctant Annette is to comply, but she nods. DiNozzo allows her to lead him out of the room. "Now, Mr. Sollecito, let's take it from the beginning."

x

The beginning had started this morning, the third day after young Kevin, a Corporal in a Marine unit stationed at An Nasiriyah had, following three years service including a year in Iraqi conflict, returned for a month's Leave. He should have gotten more frequent leave time, and it'll be interesting to find out why that hadn't happened.

Good as it was for their son to be home again, it had occurred to Sollecito Senior that there might be something 'lacking' in this reunion.

Extracting the story isn't easy; he's as devastated as his wife is, so the words come slowly as he speaks around grief.

"When I got out of the Army I was still dating Annette. She lived at home and so did I. It was the southern Mid-west and a young couple didn't have the … well, I remembered what it had meant to me to have gotten, and never really did in the first week, a few hours private time.

"I wasn't going to actually _say_ what I was thinking, that would have been too much. But when we left, I left a note that simply said we were going shopping for a few hours." He has to stop, to take a long time in recovering.

"We would be back at three. I left it very convenient, that he was going to have the house to himself for a definite amount of time. We were out by eight, we left him asleep. He'd had a late night with his friends."

It's now Wednesday evening. "So you didn't speak to him this morning." Carpenter concludes.

"No. Oh God, I wish I had. If I hadn't been such a–" He breaks, no longer able to continue. It's nearly a minute before Gibbs tries again.

"And you don't know for certain that Miss," he checks his pad, "DiGiuseppi was here today?"

"No. I just gave him the opportunity, and assumed."

Gibbs sees the man's emotional control is near its end, and next time he might not pull out of it so shortly, but he has more questions; "Do you know of anyone, anyone at all, that you think might be capable of this?"

"God, no. If I did, I'd get my old rifle and–"

"Who knew your son was coming home?"

It takes a moment to think it through. "The entire block, our church, our friends, my job, Annette's job ... a couple hundred more, plus anyone who sees the banner."

Gibbs is hardly surprised. "You understand that for the next few days this house is an active Crime Scene. We'll have Agents, Forensics teams; they'll be gathering all the evidence they can. In the meantime we'll be conducting more interviews, both with you and anyone you can think of. You won't be able to stay here, but NCIS can set you up at a hotel, at government expense. We also have people that will clean–"

"I don't care what inconvenience there'll be, just _find_ the bastard!"

x

"You'll find plenty to interest you in the bedroom," Carpenter assures Gibbs when Sollecito has gone to take care of his wife.

"Lead the way."

As soon as they, with Ziva and Tim, enter Kevin Sollecito's bedroom across the hall from his parents' room, they know the taciturn detective's words were an understatement. This room is a forensic goldmine.

There's a wood frame bed to their left, extending outward from the left wall. Closet and television are to the right and computer workstation straight on beyond the bed. By far the greatest evidence will come from the disheveled bed and the blood on pillow, mattress and headboard.

DiNozzo returns from a fruitless attempt to talk to Annette Sollecito. "She's too hysterical. I had to leave her with her husband."

"My people only took pictures in here," Carpenter tells them, "line of demarcation and all that. As soon as we got in we noticed the dress uniform. That's when I called you."

The uniform he refers to is the formal attire of a Marine, the one firmly fixed in the public mind; it's not hanging in the closet but is neatly folded upon a table in the near left corner, arranged so the single medal bar is visible. Upon the pile rests the formal white cover, and set beside it is a digital camera.

The bedcovers are a mess, quite out of keeping with the rest of the room. The sheets show enthusiastic wear, the upper quilt lies upon the floor to the right side of the bed. Blood stains both the upper half of the headboard and the mattress' right corner.

A blue blouse and skirt set and underwear are scattered haphazardly on either side of the bed.

The agents hold back until DiNozzo collects a series of shots with the large digital camera. First are the panning sets from opposite corners, then about the room in a tightening orbit of the bed, then detail shots of everything in the room, using a series of triangular yellow and black number stands.

"Do not miss this, Tony," Ziva advises, pointing to an unrolled condom lying on the carpet under the computer workstation quite some distance from the bed. "It appears unused," she elaborates.

It takes twenty minutes to thoroughly document the room, McGee taking notes of every picture, including range and shutter speed. Then DiNozzo collects a large sketchpad from the evidence bag in the hallway while the others commence their searches. Gibbs uses a pair of tweezers on the unrolled end to retrieve and drop the discarded polyurethane sheath into a bag which he seals and labels. Then he steps toward a corner, the better to take in the scene as a whole.

Ziva, wearing protective gloves and handling only the edges, is reviewing the exposed pictures from the camera beside the folded uniform. "The time stamps go back over several weeks and the pictures are clearly shot locally. I recognize one of the places. The last fourteen pictures are of Sollecito in uniform in several rooms, some with her, most alone. It seems she was improving her collection."

He checks the pictures over Ziva's shoulder. The pretty brunette looks too innocent for whatever happened to her. "When was the last picture taken?"

"1202."

"Three hours before the parents returned." He crosses again to the door, taking in the room from this perspective. DiNozzo is taking a coordinate sketch while McGee examines the bloodstained headboard. "What've you got, McGee?"

"There are four long, dark hairs matted into the blood. I count seven impact points, though there could be more before the blood flow started. The blood on the mattress starts nineteen inches right of plumb, near the edge of the mattress."

"Right."

Something in Gibbs' tone makes him look back. "Something wrong, boss? I mean, besides everything?"

"Corporal Sollecito was a Marine who just came back from years of active duty in combat. If the attack took place here, there should be more than a rumpled bed, but this room is squared away, no sign of a struggle."

"I believe I can provide an answer to that, Jethro," Ducky Mallard says from behind him.

x

Gibbs turns to the Medical Examiner and his diminutive assistant standing in the hall. He notes with satisfaction she had the sense to change into the more appropriate field attire, a smaller version of the taller man's blue overalls. He ignores the fact that it could fit her better across the chest.

"In examining the 'autopsy report'," Ducky continues as they enter past the investigator, "I found references to puncture wounds in Corporal Sollecito's right buttock and also to muscular spasms having occurred prior to death which are consistent with electric shock. I found the same evidence, though a check for convulsive muscular contractions await a more detailed examination. Our adversary had the advantage of foreknowledge unavailable to an on-scene examiner."

"He also had a Taser." A stun gun would not leave puncture wounds.

"Indeed. They would have been in range from near the doorway, certainly a more accurate shot if he or she were closer."

"He."

"You sound certain."

Gibbs points at the carpeted floor. "No scuffmarks. Sollecito wasn't dragged into the kitchen, he was carried."

"Indeed."

"So, what can you tell us about this?" he nods to the rumpled bed.

x

Ducky considers, taking in everything before making any decisions. "Almost certainly the site of an amorous encounter. The evidence so conveniently provided by our culprit, which amounts to a confession, indicates Kevin Sollecito was struck with an electric current of 30,000 volts, enough of an assault for a quite painful incapacitation. He was then struck on the back of the neck by a patrolman's baton.

"Christine DiGiuseppi, due to her …" his eyes flicker to Sky, "proximity, was also affected by the charge. Had it not been so, it might have incapacitated him. As it was, the force was shared between them, its effectiveness essentially halved and more physical means were required to subdue him. Corporal Sollecito appears to have dislodged the pins that had been fired at him. It is excellent testament to his training and physical condition that he was able to do so.

"He was then dispatched with the wooden baton noted in the report and Miss DiGiuseppi was apparently raised upward upon the bed and her head repeatedly driven backward into the headboard. She then collapsed to her left, the blood marking the edge of the mattress, She might well have remained unconscious until after the Corporal was conveyed into the kitchen and dispatched."

x

Lack of blood anywhere but on the bed supports this reconstruction, her head wound would have time to clot before she was taken away. "How long would she be out?"

"I cannot answer that without examining her. Twenty minutes, over an hour, anything is possible."

"She was hit hard enough to crack the board."

"Then possibly on the upper range of time."

"All right, does this bastard explain _why_ Sollecito was targeted?"

"Sadly, no, Jethro. The report was terse yet technically accurate. At this point I could not even tell you for certain _which_ of them was targeted."

"Meaning this could be anything from a crime of opportunity to a lover's triangle."

"True. I'm afraid you've your work cut out for you."

"All right," he turns to the team, "McGee, make sure you have all the photos outside. Ziva–"

"I can examine her possessions for anything that would tell us who was the true target."

"DiNozzo–"

"Interview Annette Sollecito again, assuming she's calmed down."

"See if you can find out if there was anyone who wasn't happy Kevin Sollecito came back. Carp, lets' you and I talk to the father again."

xx

When Gibbs returns to the kitchen fifteen minutes later, McGee reports that "I have a complete set of photos," he indicates the open Evidence case upon the counter, "Ziva's outside checking latents." Gibbs looks to Mallard and Sky on either side of a gurney, Keith Sollecito's body in the sealed black body bag.

"We're finished here," Ducky answers the unasked question. "A liver probe," he indicates the garbage pail beside the table, "would not give an accurate reading on T.O.D., but judging by the degree of clotting of the blood in the body, on the table," he raises his hands demonstratively, "well, all over the floor in fact, I should guess some four to six hours ago. Ziva untied and bagged the ropes that held the Corporal. The fibers scored the wood of the table so it will have to be taken into evidence," he glances through the door behind Gibbs, "even if the family wanted the table again, which I tend to doubt."

"You have a way with understatement, Ducky. Carpenter and I are going to visit the girlfriend's home; DiNozzo, you're with us. Duck, leave when you're ready, the Forensics team is on their way. McGee, set the parents up at the Essex, when they're ready go with them and see that they're settled. Call me right away with the phone and room."

"Right, boss."


	3. Pieces

Chapter Three  
Pieces

Carpenter is a step ahead of Gibbs and DiNozzo and presses the doorbell, establishing his primacy. When it opens, he has his shield case out first, displaying it to the tall, black haired woman. "Mrs. DiGiuseppi?"

"Yes?" She is apprehensive to greet the three men on her doorstep, one a Metro plain clothes officer in a brown suit, the other two in black jackets and caps with white lettering; all three grim enough to telegraph rea on to worry.

"Detective Lieutenant Jeffery Carpenter, these are Federal Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo. If we may, we'd like to speak to you."

"What about?"

At the moment he's not ready to reveal all he knows. "It concerns a friend of your daughter's."

"She's not home." Charlotte DiGiuseppi doesn't like that this seems to come as no surprise to the men. "What's wrong?"

"Do you know where she is?"

"Out with her boyfriend. Why are you asking me these questions?"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, may we come in?"

xx

"She left this morning to spend the day with her boyfriend," Charlotte says as she sits down on a chair in the living room. Gibbs and DiNozzo take the couch, Lieutenant Carpenter the chair opposite hers.

"Who is her boyfriend?"

"Kevin Sollecito. He just got home from overseas; he's a Marine."

"Do you know him?"

"I've met him a few times. I don't actually _know_ him, not really well. What is this about?"

Carpenter exchanges a subtle signal with Gibbs. This may be a joint operation, but there is a clear demarcation.

"Corporal Sollecito died today." Carpenter tells her. "NCIS is investigating the circumstances."

"Oh my God," she whispers.

"We'd like to interview your daughter. His parents tell us they were to see each other today."

"You don't think–"

"No. No, but at this point we don't know how, or why, Corporal Sollecito died. We're hoping your daughter can help."

"I'll call her," DiGiuseppi says, anxiety driving her. She goes to a small stand in the corner, picks up a cordless phone and all three men can read the tension in her posture. It's several seconds before she speaks, her tone tells them all they need to know. "Christine honey, call me as soon as you get this message. There are police here; they want to know about Kevin. Call me quick."

Gibbs looks to Carpenter, uncertain what cards he's playing. It seems clear from the evidence in the bedroom that Christine DiGiuseppi will not be able to return this call. However, he says nothing – yet. All may not be as the evidence suggests.

"I don't know why she didn't answer," Charlotte admits with greater apprehension as she sits back down opposite Carpenter, "her phone is on."

"As soon as she calls," Carpenter says, trying to forestall any speculation, "please have her call me." He hands her a card from his shield folder. "In the meantime, would it be all right if we see her room?"

"Yes, of course. It's right this way."

Permission is far better than a warrant, and though they'll only look for what's in plain sight, even this should be enlightening.

The scene is little different than they expect, typical of a young woman's bedroom. There's a laptop on a bureau that, if they cared to tip their hand and prematurely reveal what happened to Christine, they might gain access to. But they don't want to act too quickly; the computer, and other evidence, will be there when they return. Gibbs mentally assembles a list of what he wants to put on the affidavit for the warrant.

xx

Twenty five minutes later the three pause at the curb for consultation. "It's pretty obvious she didn't plan to leave," Carpenter concludes. There had been enough personal items, in addition to a full closet of clothes, for them to determine that Christine DiGiuseppi was coming back home. Her mother hadn't indicated anything was missing.

"You don't believe she was kidnapped." Gibbs isn't asking. Both investigators have problems with what they found in Sollecito's bedroom, but they are different problems.

"I still don't know what I believe yet. Clues point to two possible interpretations and what amounts to a written confession, but where's the motive? Why butcher him and just knock her out – was she was knocked out? Is she a victim or an accomplice made to look good? I want a look at that computer, any diaries or journals."

"Me too."

"I'll take DiGiuseppi," Carpenter says, "you take Sollecito and we update regularly."

"Deal."

xxx

It's 1830, over four hours after nominal quitting time, when Ducky and Samantha, now clad in blue scrubs with fresh masks upon their faces and blue elastic covers protecting their hair, lift the eviscerated body of Corporal Kevin Sollecito onto the first of the silver tables. "Now Sammy, while I am working here, I would like you to arrange the other organs on the next table," he indicates the wastebasket enclosed in thick plastic, "weigh, measure and evaluate each piece in detail and we shall compare your evaluation with that of our mystery examiner."

"Okay, Doctor." She gives him a sly grin. "I suppose you want them in the usual order?"

"That would be preferable."

"Pity, I've always wanted to try some rearranging. I'm sure I could come up with a better layout if I just–"

"The usual order will do fine."  
"Yes, sir." She senses she's pushed things far enough, though that doesn't diminish her smile one whit.

They set to work upon their respective tasks. Ducky's job, in addition to studying the autopsy report to perform a psychological autopsy on the 'pathologist', is to try to determine an official cause of death from a body that is missing every vital organ. Sollecito's skin was so bathed in blood as to lead him to believe that the young man had been alive through much of what had been done to him.

He's obliged to determine, definitely, however, that there is nothing in Sollecito's body that could in any way lead to a fatal outcome. Everything must be eliminated before he can definitively state in court that 'autopsy' is the only probable cause of death for the young soldier. The actual Cause of Death he plans to put in his report is 'extreme exsanguination due to catastrophic loss of internal organs'.

However, he cannot avoid a painful awareness that Sollecito must submit to yet a second invasive procedure. If autopsy is the ultimate invasion of privacy, he cannot bring himself to classify what the man endured.

x

Three minutes into the investigation he hears the doors open behind him. Samantha, at the next table's other side so they may face one another, looks up, her tone delighted. "Hiya, Abby!"

"Hi, Sammy, how're you?"

"Just ducky," she holds up a large, deeply colored organ as Abby restrains a wince, "can I interest you in some liver?"

Abby smiles, "No thanks."

"Yeah, it's missing something without the onions."

"You're here late," Ducky observes as Abby stops at the base of Sammy's table so they may all see one another without the Examiners having to turn from their work, saying this more to stop the exchange of nonsense between the admittedly irrepressible women.

"Do we ever get reasonable clock-outs?"

"Good point."

"Gibbs wants me to start everything from the bedroom tonight. I've already got the latents running in IAFIS."

She steps around the base of the table and up beside Ducky, looking into the nearly vacant corpse. "Tony said you had a strange one."

"Yep," Sammy continues, "this guy actually had the _nerve_ to start without us. I don't know; I feel we should complain to the Pathologist's Union."

"I didn't know Pathologists had a Union," Abby quips, playing along. She knows there's a Certifying association, but that's hardly a union.

"Yep, Local 6-Fee-Tunder."

x

Abby comes back around the first table and looks over the assembled parts on Sammy's, neither woman noticing Ducky's annoyance. "How's the jigsaw puzzle?" This is the first time she's observed a two-table autopsy.

"Fine," Sammy grins, "but he won't let me try any rearrangement. I told him I had some ideas for a layout that would work much better."

"I'm half scared to ask."

"Only half?"

"This is actually nothing. Get him to tell you about the three meat puzzle cases he and Jimmy had; he'll be good for about two hours."

Sammy looks across the tables. "What meat puzzles?"

Ducky has restrained his annoyance at Samantha's chronic enthusiasm, high cheer and tendency to speak quite out of turn, determining instead that Abby's visit is well timed. The woman can offer the best distractions from bad moods.

"Well, as Abby mentioned, there were three," he comes around the table to between the silver platforms facing Sammy and looking over the collection of organs - fortunately laid out properly. Sammy has emptied a quarter of the bin and is well on her way to completing the notes on the evaluation page on the clipboard beside her. He adopts his pedantic manner, the better to fill the role of teacher. "The first was a set of forty gallon drums filled with alcohol and body parts which had been dissected at every joint. They were from four different bodies, all of them related to the prosecution of a murder case I had assisted in the investigation of some years ago. The second was a collection of fibrous fascia, the connective tissue binding skin to muscle, which was found spread about a motel room."

"I didn't enjoy that one at all," Abby says, reflecting upon the nightmare Mikel Mawher had sparked, as well as the deadly assassinations he'd orchestrated just months ago, when he'd returned to exact his revenge for his capture and her refusal of his demented love.

"The third was when a severed head found in a lunch box led to a 'chop shop' and a storage cooler filled with body parts from eleven different corpses. Which one shall I start with?" His tone makes the stories sound particularly juicy.

Sammy glances up at Abby, then to her new mentor. "How about the pickled feet?"

x

As he begins, Sammy continues removing each organ from the bin, weighing, measuring and placing them in the appropriate positions on the table, but then she stops, left kidney in her hands.

"Is something wrong?" Ducky asks, breaking off the story at the embalming part, his least favorite section and the part he's glad to be cut off from.

"I'm not sure." She confesses as she sets the kidney down and turns to the bin, moving organs about. "Would you help me?"

Together they unload the bin, dispensing with the measurements, placing each organ in its proper location, though spread far enough that the contents of the torso fill the entire table. "That's it," she declares unnecessarily when the bin is empty.

"That it is indeed," Ducky confirms grimly.

"What's it?" Abby asks, unable to endure the suspense any longer.

"Oh Abby, I should think someone as skillful as you would determine the problem instantly from the clue of the kidneys. Neither adrenal gland is present."

"Is everything else?"

A glance over the table is all the doctor needs. "Yes."

"What does it mean?"

"I shall have to find out."

xxx

In her lab an hour later, Abby calls out to the opening door of the lab, not even turning about. "Hi, Gibbs."

"How'd you know it was me?"

"You're forgetting LAbby Rule Number One. I found something, so you appeared."

"I like to keep on top of you."

She gives him a sly smile. "I'm not doing anything tonight."

"I'm afraid of coffins."

"I'm thinking of getting a deluxe 'fat man' model; more room."

"What've you got?"

"Still the same one, but McGee didn't mind the tight fit."

"Abby," he means to bring her back to the case, but also to caution her that "you don't want Mother O'Mallory to hear about that."

"No kidding. I may be able to kill him without leaving any forensic evidence, but she can also give him Last Rites and bury him."

"Between you, her and Ziva, this isn't a good season to be McGee."

"Oh, his goose is cooked. Right now he's turning a light golden brown."

"Before his meter pops, what've you got on the _case_?"

She glances at his empty hands. "Where's my 'Caf-Pow!'?"

How could she ask about...? "Abs, it's nearly night time."

"It relaxes me at night, helps me sleep."

He doesn't want to try to work out this logic. "The case?"

"Next time, then."

"Next time."

She turns back to her workstation, manipulating results onto the computer monitor screen. "The blood on the headboard was definitely not Kevin Sollecito's; the AFDB shows he's A-positive, the blood is B-negative. But considering the fact that of the hairs matted into the headboard the shortest one is ten inches long it's a big whoop of a surprise that they weren't his."

"The girlfriend, Christine DiGiuseppi. Ducky said the perp hit her head against the headboard a couple of times when the Taser didn't put her down."

"The Duckman always was a genteel soul. The guy did more than hit her head, more like smashed it hard enough to crack the wood in three places."

"How much force would that take?"

"Enough to make sure she was out for a good long time."

"Carpenter thinks it's a dodge, that she's in on it."

"Not a chance, he made it look too good. If it were me, I'd be pretty pissed."

That is enough to settle the question for him.

x

"Condom?"

"No thanks, I'm on the pill. Actually it's my special blend, 99.998 percent effective. I'd market it except it's bio-specific and the permutations would make it cost prohibitive – _Oh_! you mean _that_ condom!"

"Yes," he answers aridly, warning her his patience is about to end.

"It was unused, unrolled but unused. I didn't get any of his fingerprints off it, most guys usually just–"

"I _have_ been married before, Abs."

"And I hope you're still keeping in practice." His glare warns her that her latitude has run out. "I did get an excellent whole hand print, four full fingers lined around the sheath. I'm running them anyway but I'm thinking I don't have to look far for a match. From the placement of the hand and where the thing was found I'd say he put it on, she pulled it off and tossed it."

"Why would she do that?"

This time the look she gives him substitutes for a slap to the head.

xxx

"I hear you had some missing pieces," Gibbs says as he strides into Autopsy.

"Obviously you have been speaking to Abby," Ducky says, turning from the papers spread upon his desk, "since I have not had time to file a report."

"Where's the girl?"

Ducky hesitates, quite distracted. He'd been working on a man earlier; there is no woman in any of the cooling lockers, certainly not a "Girl?"

"Sky."

"Jethro, she's hardly a girl, she is 24 years old."

"Still a girl to me."

"That is not very PC of you."

"Forget computers," he tells him, purposely being obtuse.

"She is having dinner," Ducky says, giving up on his friend.

"I've often wondered how you can eat after doing what you do."

"The alternative is to be an examinee rather than the examiner."

"What did you find out?" Gibbs asks, indicating the papers, surprised to find the man handling them with his bare hands. "Where are your gloves?"

"Come now, Jethro, these are photocopies of the autopsy report, the original of which presently resides in Abby's lab where it will be subjected to various forms of physical analysis and it is clearly past time for you to return home for some much needed sleep."

"Sleep later, what've you got?"

"Yes." The sooner he finishes, the better chance he has of getting home at a respectable hour. Samantha may be able to stomach the building café's fare, he will not willingly do so unless he decides to participate in a Survival Training Course, unlikely at his age. "When Miss Sky and I examined the Corporal's internal organs, both adrenal glands were unaccounted for."

"Why?"

"The answer to that awaits further contemplation, but I do have a theory, and it is particularly unpleasant."

"If there's anything pleasant about this case, you be sure to let me know."

"I shall. Not long after the purpose of these glands was determined, it was long thought in the popular mind that they are the seat of passion just as the heart had been deemed the seat of love and affection. I believe their removal might be an attempt to send a message. On the one hand, it could be a grim set of souvenirs, _or _it could be the excising of passion, or else a rather grizzly message."

"Which is?" He hopes the message is somewhere in the papers spread upon the desk.

"You shall know when I do."

"What about a Psychological Autopsy."

He wishes the man hadn't asked. "I have not yet had the opportunity to begin one. I shall endeavor to give you one in the morning."

"The early morning."

xxx

"I know that look," Jennifer Shepherd says as she approaches Gibbs on the balcony outside MTAC. She is going home, but it's all too clear that the pensive man is not.

"What look?"

"The one that says you can't see the trees for the forest so you're going to napalm the forest."

"The forest isn't what I want to napalm. We've a sick bastard this time, worse than most. He cut up Sollecito on the kitchen table for his family to find, and may have the girlfriend. I don't think much of her chances."

"What do Agent McGee's books have to do with this one?" She'd found the 'Pimmy Jalmer' reference in the initial report a particularly unpleasant reflection to Thom E. Gemcity's contribution to NCIS' notoriety.

"You'll know when I do," he assures her, heading for the stairs.

"That's not very reassuring," she says, walking past him, conveying her intent not to have a long conversation on her way to the elevator.

"We called Palmer, he's still in Hawaii;" he 'reminds' her, knowing full well that was in his initial report, "so unless he hitched a lift with Captain Kirk, he's in the clear."

"Captain Kirk? You're dating yourself."

"I have to," he starts back down the steps beside her, "hardly anyone else will."

x

He enters the bullpen, glancing at the clock. A quarter after nine. He can't keep his people much longer or it'll be time for their shift to begin. "DiNozzo, report."

"Corporal Keith Sollecito," he presses a control on his computer, directing the feed of the officer's military record to the plasma screen, "of Bravo Company, is presently stationed at An Nasiriyah, home on a four week furlough. We've kept a lid on news to Iraq until I get your word. He enlisted three years ago, at 18, served 2 years in Bosnia before moving over to Iraq, been there ever since."

"How many more from his unit are on furlough?"

"Two others shipped out the same day. Lance Corporal Chester Markowitz went straight on to Michigan. Private Wintergreen is in Albany, New York. I spoke to him a few minutes ago, the old 'how was your flight, you're doing a good job' song and dance. Didn't speak to Markowitz but I did speak to the wife; apparently she made sure he got enough exercise to sleep through the night."

"Very discreet, Tony," Ziva's tone makes it quite clear how little discretion she credits him with.

"Man needs some fun after returning from a long deployment, Zee-va!"

"It is not the–"

"Ziva, the Corporal's friends," Gibbs cuts her sharply.

"I have the names of three, none of whom are home."

"In the morning you–"

"Boss," McGee calls from his workstation.

"What is it?"

"There's no activity on Christine DiGiuseppi's cell phone but I just got a hit on her credit card. It was used to purchase gas at a convenience station on Highway 66 near Devon Park and to buy groceries at that same shop, twenty seven minutes ago."

No one needs to be ordered to gear up.


	4. Chiropractic Interview

Chapter Four  
Chiropractic Interview

By the time Gibbs' blue Charger rolls under the lighted overhang in the gas station beside Highway 66, the stars are pinpoints in the sky surrounding a waning moon. The only decent light comes from the cement overhang, the associated Convenience store and the headlights from passing cars.

Inside, four rows of grocery displays run the length of the store, all visible from the register station at the far end. A lighted red marquee display announces that the lottery prize is 27 million dollars. The long haired man in the dirty and holed shirt doesn't even straighten from his low bend over the counter, continuing to read a tabloid. His "'elp you?" tells the agents how little he cares.

Gibbs displays his shield and ID, identifying his team.

The man looks over the four black jacketed agents past the veil of his brown hair. "Look more like you're goin' to a party. Need some tokes?"

Gibbs grits his teeth and simply displays a reproduction of Christine DiGiuseppi's license. "Less than an hour ago this woman bought gas here." He waits for the man to admit or deny this.

"Latest in self service," he says instead, indicating the control for the pumps outside. "Long as you swipe the card, I don't care who you are." He looks again at the picture, still not standing up. "Though if I'd known, I'd probably've serviced her, if ya get me."

"At the same time, someone charged $17.28 on her credit card." He doesn't believe DiGiuseppi used the card, nor does he bother to ask why a man had been cleared for it.

"Maybe. Busines' been brisk."

"Yeah, I can see that." They're the only ones in the store. They do note the four cameras set up at strategic points. "You've got plenty of cameras."

"Like I said, latest in service," he says into the tabloid pages.

"Oh, I can see the service. We're going to need to see the last hour's footage, inside and out."

The man gives a slow smile. "Got a warrant?"

"Oh, I can get a warrant, no problem there."

"Well then."

"You don't own this place, do you?" He hardly needs to ask, but does so to make his point.

"'ope, what difference that make?"

"Because while I'm gone, my Agents will secure the scene."

x

This makes him show a modicum of interest, makes him finally look up and meet Gibbs' eyes for the first time. "What'cha mean by that?"

"Self service; that means whoever used the machine outside pushed the buttons, used the pump handle. That means fingerprints we can't afford to let be smudged. No one will be able to use the pumps until courts open in the morning and I can bring back a warrant. Same with in here. He had to let himself in and out, so we can't let anyone touch the door."

The man hesitates, not sure if Gibbs will make good on this threat. "You can't keep customers from using the premises, thass illegal."

"Maybe. Maybe not. How's your back?"

"Huh?"

"Bent over like that, maybe you should see a chiropractor."

Before the man can move Gibbs reaches under his chest and grips the man's shirt; the slob is raised upright and Gibbs pulls him over the counter with a sharp twist and pushes the upper half of his body down. The man is bent back, upside down, hair pointing toward the floor, his hips on the counter and legs beyond it. Gibbs, still clutching the man's shirt, bends over so he can look into the startled man's face.

"That's much better on the back. Now, the man in here murdered a Marine. You know what Marines are, don't you? The card belongs to the Marine's missing girlfriend. We'd like those videos, and we'd like you to give them to us."

"Sure," he whispers in a strangled grate, "all ya hadda do was ask."

xxx

"This security footage is garbage," Abby announces early Thursday morning as she displays an almost unintelligible scene on the plasma screen. She'd gotten an early start right after breakfast, feeding the film output through several enhancing programs, but has little to show for it. Gibbs can barely make out gas pumps and vehicles, and even then it requires some imagination. "The lens is exposed to the elements and hasn't been cleaned since the day it was installed."

"Well, you can clean it up, can't you?" Gibbs recalls hundreds of occasions when she's performed photographic wonders with less.

"This _is _the cleaned up version. I enhanced the tape to create a 'duplex' – that's my word so don't bother looking it up. Videotape uses a system of alternating images when it records, first 'right', then 'left', switching back and forth so fast the eye can't see it. It sees only a single image, but the tape is quicker than the eye and I'm quicker than either."

"Just one of the things I love about you, Abs."

"Awww. Anyway, I copied the left onto the right, doubling the number of pixels in the image and making it clearer. I enhanced the contrast, lighting, I'm still working on it but I can't guarantee anything more, because the image is so badly messed up; and as a famous trader of tribbles once observed 'twice nothing is still nothing'."

"You've never let me down."

"I shall _endeavor_ to please."

x

"What about the store camera? That's clear, isn't it?"

"For all the good it'll do you," she switches the feed to the inside of the store, where the camera is aimed at the front counter from a vantage on the far left. On it is displayed Gibbs' chiropractic patient, bent over the counter reading a magazine. A man wearing a long grey coat and a baseball cap steps up to the counter, but he approaches from the left and keeps his body angled away from the camera. Filmed from the rear, he deposits a few items on the counter, pays for them and leaves as the clerk returns to his magazine.

"What about the other, from behind the counter?" There are four cameras, including the one pointed outward that surely recorded the chiropractic treatment he'd given the clerk before they confiscated the tapes. The counter one is perhaps their best chance; he hopes the lens caught his good side.

"You mean this?" the image switches to a screen full of black and white pixilations, incomprehensible snow. "The last time stamp I got was four days ago, the other cameras are no better. I'd say Mister Brain Surgeon was responsible for changing the tapes."

"What _can_ you tell me?"

"Our guy's about five ten, five eleven, he's right handed, Caucasian. I can make out dark hair, can't see his hands, his coat's too long for me to give you a weight but he's not noticeably fat. That's about all I could take to court."

"What about the car? Could you even see anyone in it?" Maybe Christine DiGiuseppi is still alive and a captive, perhaps able to identify the killer.

He doesn't believe it.

"I'll let you know when I enhance it, but now you're looking for an SUV. With the angle of the camera I couldn't see anything from the back and forget a license plate. It's black and white footage and horrendous quality; I can't even say for sure it's really deep blue or black." She utterly hates being unable to provide answers, but it's far worse to start the investigators searching with wrong information.

"What about prints off the door and pump?"

"Gibbs, come on! Do you have any idea what those ten thousand prints are like? I'll try, but don't get your hopes up."

"Okay, Abs, thanks." There's no point this morning in demanding more before there is more to give. "Keep digging; let me know if you find anything."

xxx

Gibbs's next stop on his hunt for early morning answers, predictably, is Autopsy. He's had to wait two hours for, unlike Abby, Ducky and Samantha wouldn't be in prior to dawn.

"What particularly disturbs me–" Ducky begins after the initial morning pleasantries.

"You mean, aside from the whole autopsy thing and laying it in Palmer's lap?"

"–is the clinical way he goes about describing the murder," Ducky finishes, ignoring the interruption. "Every physical fact is presented with professional detail, with utter disregard for and detachment from the act itself. Corporal Sollecito was _alive_ for quite some time while the incisions were being made, hence the need for him to be bound as well as accounting for the extreme loss of blood. Yet the description is reduced only to the cold facts."

"But accurate, you say?"

"Oh, utterly accurate. We are looking for a trained, experienced medical man."

"Or student?" He hates to think of someone this evidently warped either as a student or actually employed in any medical facility. He turns to Sky. "Do you know enough, with your training, to be able to do this?"

Sammy stares up into his eyes, utterly appalled, unable to speak.

It takes her several tries, but her answer is a quiet, reluctant "yes."

"I agree, Jethro, Samantha could have done it."

"_DUCKY_!"

"No," he assures the appalled woman, "not that _you_ could. I am saying that Agent Gibbs is correct; we cannot limit the range of our investigation to what we might call 'experienced medical practitioners'."

Gibbs needs more, however, "How many people are we talking about?"

"Oh, Jethro, I could not possibly answer that question, even if he–"

"Or she," he counters, recalling the butcher Natalie Dalton.

"Or she," he admits, "began and remained local. It is as easy to ask how many people could get the name 'Pimmy Jalmer' from Timothy's books, which have been Best Sellers for how long?"

xx

"McGee," Gibbs directs even before he is fully into the bullpen, "put together a list of Pathologists and Pathology students in the area."

"Another Haswari search?" he glances up to Gibbs' glare. "On it. Anything to narrow the search?"

"Yeah, McGee, take out the ones who haven't read your books."

McGee just manages to keep his thought from his face.

"DiNozzo, get with Abby and see what she can make on the handwriting on that report."

"The copy was sent to HWA."

"I want her opinion before going to Handwriting. Ziva, you're still tracking Sollecito and DiGiuseppi's cards?"

"Cards, cell phones, internet activity."

Gibbs looks back, surprised, but it is McGee who answers him. "I've linked my computer to DiGiuseppi's web address. If she accesses her internet account, I'll know it."

"Isn't that, you know, illegal?" DiNozzo inquires, his tone baiting.

"I didn't hear a thing about it," Gibbs decides.

xxx

At eleven a.m. Reverend Siobhan O'Mallory steps off the elevator on the third floor down the hall from her Pastoral office, feeling a bit odd to be here on a Thursday in addition to her regular Tuesday 'office hours', and she's surprised to find Ducky Mallard standing outside her door. "Ducky, good morning." She's always happy to see the genial man, though this is the first time he's ever been found waiting for her.

"I trust you'll forgive me," he says in his most cordial manner, "but I wanted to speak to you as soon as you arrived and I prevailed upon the front gate to notify me when you passed."

"No problem," she assures him, mildly surprised by this interception. She unlocks the door, allowing him the opportunity to enter first but he defers, always giving way to a lady, so she precedes him, crossing the length of the thin room to her desk facing the far wall and setting her purse upon it.

Actually, it's only Ducky's good fortune that she's here on a Thursday at all, having been called in by Jennifer Shepherd to deal with a matter concerning an Agent from Beta shift, something the man obviously knew. She'll try to do what she can for Ducky before speaking to Shepherd.

When she turns, he's closed the door but not stepped away from it, which does give her a second to take him in. Deep blue shirt under suspenders, his characteristic bow tie on this occasion being a traditional tartan she suspects might be the Mallard pattern, but behind his glasses his eyes show discomfort and tension. "Won't you sit down?" she invites, indicating the couch along the left wall.

x

"Thank you." He seats himself upon the brown couch, the only other piece of furniture in the room other than her black executive chair at her desk, which she pulls out and swivels about to face him. The only other things in the Spartan office are a set of filing cabinets on the opposite wall from the couch, part of her silent message that there's nothing to distract her from those who come seeking her help. He takes his own moment, as he gathers his thoughts for the sixth time this morning, to focus on the emerald eyes of the priest.

In the months he's known her she seems to have adjusted to her new role in NCIS. The redheaded woman usually presents quite an image; her 'uniform' of black pants or skirt under pale blue back buttoned shirt, the two inch high collar of stiff immaculate white wrapped about her throat all provide a measure of stability he sorely needs this morning.

"I wondered," he says, "if I might speak with you."

Siobhan refrains from pointing out that this is why they're here. In addition to her duties as Curate of St. Mary the Virgin Church, she spends Tuesdays here while being NCIS' on-call Chaplain, ostensively available at any hour. But it's obvious the normally loquacious man is quite discomforted; she only hopes he will tell her why. "How may I help you?"

"I find myself quite at a loss for words, an unusual state, I assure you. I am hoping for your guidance."

"Of course." She hardly needs to tell him that their conversation will remain private; she suspects that is the reason he is here rather than expressing himself to Special Agent Gibbs or one of his other friends and confidants. She says nothing more, pushing a lock of red hair behind her shoulder. She usually uses silence to draw out the other person into speaking, though she hardly imagined the need to use this method with Ducky Mallard.

"This is completely out of the ordinary for me," he confesses, "but I find myself wanting to say a particular thing to a particular person and not quite knowing how to say it, or even if I should."

She allows only the question to show in her eyes.

"But in this case I have come to believe that discretion is the better part of valor, and the time shall soon come when I shall not need to speak of this."

He lapses into silence and the priest decides that perhaps a more classic technique will be in order. "Ducky, please remember that what is said in this room has the sanctity of the Confessional, but I can help you far better if you'll simply be direct."

"Yes. Of course. My apologies. It concerns my young assistant, Samantha Sky. She has been substituting for Mr. Palmer during his honeymoon."

Siobhan refrains from pointing out that she met the young woman even before Jimmy and Michelle's wedding and several times since. She certainly won't mention that Sky had been seated exactly where Ducky is only two days ago. Again she relies upon silence.

x

"She is quite competent and with a few more years training and experience she has the potential to become a superlative Forensic Pathologist. Her grades in college and Medical School, along with evaluations from several facilities she trained in, were instrumental in making her my choice after Mr. Harper was obliged to leave us. Her comprehension and abilities are all quite impressive and I shall be giving her a positive assessment when she returns to her training next week. As you may know, she is years away from qualifying for a post as a Medical Examiner; she must first complete Medical School and obtain her Doctorate before beginning the additional required training which will take some four to five years, but I am confident she will accomplish her goal."

Still Siobhan maintains her attentive silence, waiting until Ducky will finish laying the positive groundwork and reach the reason for his discomforted visit.

"However," he admits with clear reluctance, "her enthusiasm, her persistent good humor, her joie de vivre, all take a measure of getting used to. In one sense it is refreshing, but after a time it becomes … challenging. She is enthusiastic, extroverted, helpful, eager to learn, and though she makes mistakes relative to her level of experience she has yet to repeat one in my presence.

"She does, however, exist on a level of … 'ecstasy' is the only word that comes to my mind … that make her entirely unlike anyone I'd ever come to know. With some, I might be inclined to attribute her state to artificial enhancement, if you take my meaning, but that is not the case. She often brings to mind John Milton's poem 'L'Allegro': 'Mirth, admit me of thy crew, to live with her, and live with thee, in unreproved pleasures free'." He stops, considering his next words carefully.

"However, she is equally inclined to allow her enthusiasm to get the better of her discretion. She frequently joins conversations somewhat out of turn, though I _do_ notice that tendency is somewhat lessened lately. Jethro had been less than patient with her, something which again I think has aided in her slight reformation. She has described herself as having been 'born hyper' and I quite honestly live in dread of Abby's introducing her to 'Caf-Pow!'.

"I confess that over these past nearly three weeks I find my appreciation for her joie de vivre steadily diminishing. I recently chose to bite my tongue rather than address her on these issues, contenting myself with the knowledge that her tenure will soon expire and Mr. Palmer shall resume his duties on Monday."

x

There is a long moment when he has run himself out of words. "And you want to know…." Siobhan says, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

"If I should discuss the issue with her or wait until there is no longer a need to do so."

"I'm sure you've thought out," she ventures carefully, recalling her advice to the young woman "what is in Miss Sky's best interests."

"I've thought extensively that any conversation I might have with her is less likely to change an ingrained personality trait than it is to injure her feelings. She is an intense young lady, but on the whole the traits that … annoy me ... are not negative ones. I can see no benefit accruing from injuring her by anything I might say." He stands up. "Thank you, Reverend, you've been most helpful."

"My pleasure."

He sketches a slight bow and departs, leaving Siobhan wishing that all her efforts to help were this easy.

xxx

Gibbs hangs up his phone. "The Sollecitos are calling _again_ for answers. _Give_ me some!"

"Abby continues to analyze the security tape from the service station," Ziva replies crisply. "Thus far she has had no luck identifying the vehicle or our man. She says she is doing a 'layover enhancement' that should provide a clearer image."

McGee puts his own phone down and is half out of his seat even before saying; "Boss, I have a hit on DiGiuseppi's Amex, Kingsland Hotel on Route 50 by Landover Hills, Maryland at 19:21 last evening."

"And we're just finding out about it _now_?"

"Cards are charged at check-out; that was a half hour ago, 11:27

"Kingsland's way on the other side of town from 66 and the Convenience store," DiNozzo says bitterly as the agents gather shields and weapons. He'd focused his search on points to the west of the city, though he won't make the mistake of revealing that. "What is he, a ping-pong ball?"

xxx

The Kingsland Hotel is on Route 50, an eight-story complex surrounded by parking lots. When the agents enter the spacious lobby they proceed directly to the 'Check-In' counter opposite a collection of padded chairs surrounding a plasma screen mounted to the far left wall. They don't reach the counter, however, before Tony calls their attention. "Boss, check this out."

They turn toward the wide television screen from which a low voice emanates, too softly to be clearly heard. There is little need for sound, the CNN image of the Sollecito home is covered in the upper left quarter by an inset image of the Corporal. Fortunately it's the official military ID where he's resplendent in black and white dress uniform with the flag unfurled in the background, not as he currently appears.

"McGee, Ziva," Gibbs says, cocking his head toward the screen, then he and DiNozzo approach the counter.

"May I help you?" the maroon jacketed woman inquires. Gibbs and DiNozzo display their shields.

"We've been tracking a kidnapper. He has a young woman, her credit card was used to rent a room last evening."

The woman, whose silver ID pin reads D. Goines, is caught quite off guard. "Oh, yes, would you excuse me a moment?"

Not waiting for an answer, she turns and pushes open the door behind and a few feet to her left. When she returns fifteen seconds later she's followed by a taller woman, also uniformed, though the gold pin on the brunette's jacket identifies her as 'V. Stoner; Assistant Manager'.

Gibbs explains their purpose to her, emphasizing the danger the kidnap victim is in, and that their suspect is also a murderer.

"What's her name?" she asks, reaching for the computer keyboard. Less than ten seconds later, "we have only one 'DiGiuseppi', she's in room 647. I can't give you a key card but I can escort you there."

McGee and David join them, Ziva reporting that "The report contains several inaccuracies yet still reveals far too much. Apparently a neighbor became curious about the number of police and other vehicles gathered outside the Sollecito home and saw the opportunity to collect a fee by being the first to report it."

"Let's hope they didn't screw up our chances of finding DiGiuseppi alive," DiNozzo grouses, not putting much faith in luck.

"Come with me, please," Stoner invites.

x

In the elevator Stoner has an opportunity to explain. "We swipe the credit card on check-in, which will check if there's a problem on it, but the customer isn't charged until check-out, this way the customer has the opportunity to by-pass the lines. He can do it by using the television remote and following the on-screen menu. If he approves the bill, the transaction is completed."

"I doubt DiGiuseppi stood waiting in line to check in with her kidnapper."

"I wouldn't know, Agent Gibbs, that was last night; but the Amex was registered to 'C. DiGiuseppi' and the card wasn't declined. I can check with my evening staff if they remember anything, it didn't look like you wanted to wait."

All this is true, Gibbs has to admit, no matter how frustrating it is. He can't expect hotel clerks to do the job of police, though it would be convenient. Sadly, even the alert from the credit company had taken time – perhaps too much time.

The elevator opens on 6; they follow Stoner down a short corridor, turn left and continue down a longer one to 647. Gibbs takes the card from the woman and waves her back. DiNozzo moves her even further back behind him as the McGee and David take positions on the other side of the doot, Sigs in hands. Gibbs dips the blue card into the reader, the left light above the handle turns green to a barely audible click. He pushes down the lever, shoves the door open and they rush in. Gibbs and DiNozzo each go to one knee, McGee and David remain standing, four guns covering the small room.

There's nothing to shoot at. Nothing alive.

x

The odor in the room is stunning and they must fight to keep from gagging. Tony immediately crosses the room and uses his Sig to turn on the air conditioner to vent the room while Gibbs holds the door open. The currents shift to pull air in from the hall and will gradually clear the room of the worst of the stench.

Two twin beds extend from the left wall, television stand on the right beyond which is a writing desk; a round table and a chair to the immediate left before the beds and mirrored closet at the far end of the room. To the left of the closet is a door leading to the bathroom.

One look tells the agents they're too late to capture their prey unless he's hiding, extremely unlikely as the check-out was an hour ago but they must be cautious until the need to do so is disproven. Gibbs silently directs the McGee and David to cover one another and work in tandem to secure the bathroom, they then stand off while DiNozzo, protected by the wall, pushes the mirrored closet door aside. Below the safe on the shelf is barely enough room for hangers; the closet is not deep enough for anyone to hide in.

Knowing now that their quarry has definitely escaped, they can turn their attention to the only occupant of the room.

On the left bed lies the nude body of Christine DiGiuseppi, her wrists and ankles bound by white ropes to the four corners of the bed, her torso spread wide from shoulders to groin, displaying her eviscerated torso. A rolled sock has been jammed into her mouth, held in place by nylons wrapped about her head. Blood drenches her body and the bed.

Set upon a round table near the window is a clipboard, neatly stacked papers secured by the clamp.


	5. Revelation en Mortem

Chapter Five  
Revelation en Mortem

While Gibbs sends McGee and David to collect the backup Crime Scene bags from the trunk of his car, as well as to call for Ducky and the MCR van, he closes the hotel door. He and DiNozzo will not enter the scene again until it has been documented.

"We need to speak to whoever checked them into this room," Gibbs tells Stoner in the hall.

"Catherine and Bob were on duty last night, I'll call them."

Gibbs obtains their last names. "I want to know how they couldn't tell a kidnap victim was standing three feet away from them."

"Oh God, that poor woman." Stoner is still too shaken by the gruesome discovery to respond to Gibbs' tone. She takes a shaky breath to compose herself before continuing. "They might not have seen her. Hotel policy doesn't require us to check each guest's ID, only the card paying for the room is verified. Most times families or large groups check in, we'll only see one person. We just provide new check-ins with a map, including the closest entrances on the side and rear, closest to wherever they may park."

"So you don't meet most of your guests?"

"_I_ hardly meet any. My _staff _sees only the one who checks in. We prefer it that way. It's more convenient for people to get luggage in and doesn't clutter the lobby, especially during our busy hours from 12 to 4. Noon is check-out, at 3 we start signing people in."

"Those doors to the lot and so on, they're locked from the outside?"

"You need a room key to open them. Anyone coming to this room would be advised to use the south entrance; that elevator's about a hundred more feet down the hall. But once someone checks in, he or she can come and go at their choice."

"You don't have any controls over people coming or going?"

Stoner grows increasingly aggravated at his tone. Seeing the dead woman's body had been enough. This is going to be a litigation nightmare and someone's head will come off. Rather than snapping at the man, she switches to her 'customer service' tone, business-friendly yet totally empty. "If a family, lets say, comes and everyone but the father stays in the car, which is then driven to the back or either side, staff at the counter might never see anyone but the one who checks in."

"Do you keep a computer record of the cards' use?"

x

She tries not to let her exasperation come through. It's time for 'customer service voice three'. "We do, but we hardly ever use it. You might be able to find out that he came through the left entrance, I'm not promising anything. It's strictly record keeping."

That won't be a problem for McGee. "I need to speak to your Security Chief. Are any of the adjacent rooms still occupied from last night?"

Stoner uses the small radio clipped to her belt to pass along the summons, and they learn that none of the surrounding rooms are occupied by the same guests as last night; they've all checked out.

"Look, you've seen everything," Stoner tells him, wishing she could erase the memory of the woman's cut open, bloody corpse. It'll take days to clean, the bed will have to be thrown away and cleaning the walls and carper will probably take days. These Navy Police will probably insist on things being le t alone for days, who knows how long the room will be out of service? The smell - the stench will probably close down this whole section. What to tell Corporate Headquarters? This is a damned nightmare! "I can get you an access card so you can get back in. I've a thousand calls to make, I have to arrange for things to be clean–"

"No calls, no clean-up. This room is off limits to everyone while we investigate. I'll have an agent here to secure the site. Until we're done, just pretend this room doesn't exist."

"I can't have a man standing out in the hall twenty four hours a day," she protests.

"Won't be one man."

"And I suppose you're going to tell me you've got to put that damned yellow tape across the door for all my guests to see!"

Gibbs considers. He could live up to that second 'b' in his name but Stoner's played straight with him and he's not through handing her problems. "No. No, I can put the agent inside, you just make sure no one goes in."

"Anything more?" She's sure he's not done making her life hell.

"We're going to need a list of all employees on duty from the time these people checked in until the checkout. Don't tell anyone why we'll be talking to them."

Time for 'customer service voice five'. "I _have _to tell the Manager."

"That you can do."

"_Thank _you." Not even voice six could make her sound grateful. "Can I go now?"

"Yes. I'll have another team here within the hour. You'll need to tell them how to contact you after hours."

There's no way she's giving her home or cell phone; this nightmare could follow her for months. Time for seven, if this doesn't work she's going to start slapping. "The front desk can page me. Anything _else_?"

"We'll let you know."

x

When McGee returns with David, and after he signs DiNozzo's Security Log of all persons who will enter the crime scene, Gibbs sends McGee and Ziva in to conduct the initial sweep. Wearing latex gloves, McGee's first concern is to open the windows and set the air conditioner on full exhaust to clear the nauseating stench that smothers the room.

Then he commences a systematic series of photos, beginning in the nearest corner and taking a panoramic view of the room, then going to the opposite corner and repeating the exercise while he relays to Ziva and she notes each picture number and time, angle, shutter speed, lighting and image details in her notebook. Next is a series of medium shots arcing around the bed from wall to wall, more than thirty of them; each noted in detail; followed by forty close-ups.

It's over twenty minutes later that they open the door to admit the others, including the newly arrived Ducky Mallard and Samantha Sky, into the room. Ducky wears, as usual, his deep blue coveralls with embroidered identification in front and back; Samantha is attired in the smallest orange jumpsuit the Forensics Division has available, the large white NCIS identification on her back seeming especially large against her small frame.

"Oh–" she begins; Ducky's "dear" aborting her exclamation.

x

Christine DiGiuseppi lies naked on the bed. Her ID has been confirmed by her wallet removed from her purse set on the writing desk next to the television across the room from the bed. Her wrists and ankles are bound by white ropes to the four corners where the ropes descend over the edges of the mattress to be tied to the legs of the bed. Her body has been cut open in the same manner as Sollecito's and her drying blood, long ago separated into serum, has drenched the bed. Her face is frozen into a mask of the most horrendous agony, and it's obvious that she too had been cut apart while she was still alive.

Everything from her lungs to her stomach is gone, nothing above her intestines remains in her torso.

All those in the room, at Ducky's order, are again protected by blue face masks. Ducky notes that the very first thing Sammy does is take out a liver probe, locate the liver among the collection of discarded organs in the room's wastebasket and insert the probe into it. He decides to save his inquiry; this organ being outside the body, it cannot give an adequate reading, something he knows his young apprentice is well aware of.

"Observe the degree of bruising and swelling at the back of her head. Ms. DiGiuseppi had been alive for many hours following her assault at the Sollecito home, though the blood had not been cleaned."

"He certainly wasn't concerned about her condition, Duck," Gibbs is impatient for some real answers.

"True. These bruises and lacerations to her face are recent. I would say he beat her to subdue her prior to binding her, but I shall have to make a thorough analysis before saying definitely."

"Of course."

"Note the condition of the ribs," he directs Gibbs and the others from the right side of the bed, his assistant on the left. "Unlike Corporal Sollecito, Miss DiGiuseppi's ribs have not been sawed apart as by a hacksaw or some other bladed implement, but scissored by something resembling a bolt cutter.

Gibbs knows this is Ducky's method of choice, alleviating the risk of damaging the tissues and organs with a blade. "How many do you know who cut the ribs rather than sawing through?"

"Oh, slicing is far more preferable from a Medical Examiner's standpoint. Your average Coroner might use the latter, particularly in cases where foul play is not suspected, but where it is then scissoring the ribs is by and large the preferred choice.

"McGee!"

"Yes, boss. Same reason." It's easy for McGee to answer the obvious question. The character of the M.E. in his novels, 'Rex' Lyon, had been inspired by years of observing Ducky Mallard.

"What do you observe," Ducky asks Samantha standing at the other side of the bed, "about the young lady's demise?"

"He's into B&D games."

x

Her words, spoken musingly, snare the attentions of everyone in the room, and Ducky regards her particularly closely. The answer is not the medical evaluation he'd been anticipating.

"Why do you say that?" Gibbs is a second faster than Ducky, his words a demand more than a question.

Uncomfortable with the attention of the five Investigators surrounding her, Sammy takes a deep breath and plunges in.

"The way those cotton cords are looped around her wrists; that's the simplest, fastest and most basic kind of tie without using a knot. You use cotton because it won't mark the skin extensively and because it has a little 'give' in it. You take the rope, fold it in half, loop that end back and feed the other end through, then tie off that end. But it's like the Chinese finger puzzles, you know? The harder you pull, the tighter it squeezes, but push together and it slips right off."

She points to the tightly bound wrist beside her. "An experienced bondsman will position the cord so it lies side by side like this, rather than overlapping. The bond is around the base of the hand, right where the ulna and radius meet the carpel bones, so the points of greatest pressure lie on the thumb and pinky sides on the bones. This reduces the risk of cutting circulation to the hand. You can make the tie very tight more safely than if around the forearm. The bondee can pull, jerk hard, but still not risk cutting circulation.

"The same goes for her feet, the pressure points of the rope on each side are positioned on the ankle bones, between the talus and calcaneus. If the 'bondee' gets into trouble he or she can just move 'up' on the tie and slip out – _provided_ there's enough slack to do it. Most times there is, the 'bondee' won't be tied this tightly, but can struggle as much as she wants to.

"The indentation in the cheeks are also from rope; I'd say a ball gag to keep her screams from being heard while he did – this."

"You sure know a lot about bondage games," DiNozzo observes. While his tone is more than complimentary, her face shows her apprehension.

"DiNozzo!"

"Yes, boss?"

"_Find_ that damned gag!"

"On her – it – on _it_, boss."

He is too far out of reach – for the moment. "Ziva?" she looks back from where she is crouched, dusting the inner door handle for prints. "Was Sollecito tied in the same way?" She makes the mistake of answering with a blank look, so he makes the question more general; "_Was_ – _Sollecito_ – TIED – _the _– _SAME_ – _**WAY**_?"

In the rapid flurry of notebook checking, McGee ventures, "Err, boss?"

"_What_, McGee?"

"This isn't the same camera; that one was from the truck."

"So it's been copied to the computers at Headquarters?"

"Yes, boss."

"Which Abby has access to?"

"Yes." Gibbs decides to save his voice and let his glare do the yelling. "I'll call her up and ask."

"You do that, McGee." While they're engaged, he leans down to Sammy so he may speak to her quietly. "That's a lot of care to take for someone who's going to kill his victim."

"When you learn the right way to do it," she replies as softly, grateful for his discretion, "you keep using it."

"DiNozzo, bondage clubs!"

"You know, that's really not my thing, boss, I'm more the–" Gibbs turns on him, the glare devastating. "Check them out, right boss."

Gibbs crosses around the foot of the bed to examine the wastebasket overflowing with bloody organs. DiNozzo is no longer out of reach.

"Thank you, boss."

x

"Duck," when the man looks up, Gibbs indicates the clipboard that McGee has already bagged, "when you're done with the autopsies on the bodies, I need a psychological autopsy."

Ducky only nods before returning his attention to the body before him, and to the plastic garbage pail set beside the bed. "I can tell you now that the adrenal glands are not here."

"Just like Sollecito."

"Indeed."

"What do you make of it?"

"At this point, I make nothing of it, other than what I had related earlier, that at one time the adrenal glands were thought of as being the seat of emotion. On the less esoteric side, proper care has been taken to clamp the blood vessels. You can see the pressure points where the clamps had been applied and subsequently removed."

"What do you mean?"

"I am occasionally called upon to examine a fresh corpse prior to completion of the process of livor mortis, when blood vessels still contain whole blood or blood that has been broken down into serum, plasma et cetera. When excising organs to trace the path of a bullet, let us say, the process can be quite messy if the vessels are not clamped off first.

"The extensive blood loss we encounter here is from the three primary 'Y' incisions, the cutting and the pealing back of the flesh. As with Corporal Sollecito, I doubt Miss DiGiuseppi survived as long as the completion of the 'Y' cuts, certainly not up to the removal of her sternum and rib cage.

"However, even after she died from massive blood loss – exsanguination – and I am certain no small measure of sheer terror, the blood was still in her veins and organs, which veins had to be clamped prior to excising the organs. Otherwise the flow of blood into the thoracic cavity; well, suffice it to say it would soon be like working in a thick soup."

"Ducky, _please_…" Sammy appeals in a hoarse whisper.

"I am sorry, my dear." He occasionally forgets that, despite her experience to date, she is still too young to become jaded to some of the more grizzly aspects of their profession. "Do you need a moment?"

"Please."

"Of course."

x

She steps away to the foot of the bed, pulling off her gloves and pushing them into a disposable bag on the table. She turns, about to get as close to the humming air conditioner as she can when she stops, her eyes on the spread-eagled body. "Doctor?" She wishes she could avoid saying what she's found.

He and Gibbs come to her, along with DiNozzo who steps in behind them so they have a clear view between DiGiuseppi's spread thighs. "What am I looking at?" Gibbs asks.

No one is in the mood for a humorous or ironic retort.

"I'm afraid Miss DiGiuseppi has certainly been sexually violated."

"Just like in that damned book," the glare he gives McGee would make the author throw out his typewriter.

"I'm afraid so, Jethro, just as is consistent with the information about 'Pimmy Jalmer'."

When 'Deep Six' had been published, Jimmy Palmer had been outraged to learn that his unauthorized counterpart had been described, in a dream, as having had sex with a cadaver. "Unlike in the living, there is neither flow of blood nor muscular control – autonomic nor voluntary – to return tissues to their former state, thus the – gap – we observe."

"She was cut open, died, was autopsied and _then_ raped."

"I'm afraid so," Ducky confirms sadly.

Neither of them are prepared as Samantha, standing before them, whirls, shoves them both apart and knocks DiNozzo back a step in her headlong flight to the bathroom. Her loud distress echoes the feelings of everyone in the outer room.

x

"Boss, Abby confirms the details about the ropes," McGee announces, handing his cell phone over to Gibbs.

"Abs, what else can you give us?"

/The Forensic team raised a foot mark but you're not going to like it./

There had been bloody though undefined footprints on site and he can think of only one kind he wouldn't like. "Bootie."

/Bingo. Whoever this guy is, he followed all the procedures like he'd gone to one of Ducky's observations for Probies. I have plenty of latex contact points, marks off commercial grade booties, but so far not even a hair./

"Sollecito was a Marine; are you telling me he went down without a struggle?" This, despite the electric charge and clubbing, is still something that bothers him.

/Au contraire, mon ami; moi … well, _I_ do have some things, but you're not going to like them either. I found microscopic fibers from the bedroom carpet I identified as having come from commercial quality scrub booties. Apparently our mystery pathologist went into the place already prepped. The material, unfortunately, traces back to the biggest manufacturer of protective clothing in Maryland. I'm having them run lot numbers based on specifics I found, but it'll take a little more time./

"How _much_ more?"

/They say they'll get back to me by the end of the day./

"You get back to them by the end of the hour."

/I knew you were going to say that./

"What more?"

/What makes you think there's more, O Seeker of Miracles?/

"With you there's always more."

/Gee, thanks. Actually, there is more. The bootie trail – oh, I just love the sound of that – 'bootie trail'– /

"Abby."

/Okay, under his first step in the driveway of Sollecito's house, they lifted a pine needle and some soil particles in addition to his fibers. I'm analyzing them now; come and see me when you get back./

"Add this to your search; this bastard's into Bondage and Dominance."

/Kinky. But I can't say I'm surprised. I'll add it to the filter./

Gibbs closes the phone and tosses it back to McGee, who is about to put it away when it rings. "Hello?"

/You hang up on me again and I just might spank _you_./

"Err – uh – um, it's me; Tim."

/_Oh_! Tim! McGee! _Forget I said that_! Just put Gibbs back on./

"Err, boss?" he holds up the phone, "Abby's not done with you." He puts the unit into Gibbs' hand, truly not wanting to know what she'll say.

"What've you got?"

/I also found powder ground into the rope./

"What kind of powder?"

/Too soon, give me a while longer to lock it down – and don't say twenty minutes./

"Not it the same kind of powder used to line latex gloves."

/Nope, totally different, I'll get back to you with more./ This time it is she who hangs up.


	6. Kingsland Track

Chapter Six  
Kingsland Track

When Samantha returns from the hotel bathroom, still pale but having availed herself of what products had been laid out by the hotel staff, those in the room pointedly ignore all but her earlier useful revelations. However, as she approaches the body, Gibbs cannot let the matter pass. "Did you use anything that was already used?"

"No, sir; I'm sorry but I had to – but none of the seals were broken until I broke them."

Gibbs signals to DiNozzo to collect them nonetheless. Every loose article in the room must be bagged and identified; nothing can be left to loss.

"We need a time-line," he tells his team.

"The front desk says 'C. DiGiuseppi' checked in at 5:13. I figure he came in through the south door and left that way."

Sometimes single women are advised not to put their full names on cards, a matter of safety. Sometimes that advice works against them. If the unknown man had tried to use Christine DiGiuseppi's card, things might have played out differently.

"Amex reported the card's use to us at 10:58 this morning," Tim reminds them and checks his watch, "that was two-and-a-half hours ago."

"Ducky, you have a time of death?"

"The liver's over there," he points to the overfull wastebasket at the foot of the bed, "exposed to ambient temperature for hours. Miss Sky, how would you determine time of death in this case?" He's still interested in why his apprentice had earlier located the liver and immediately stuck a probe into it.

Samantha, barely recovered from her earlier distress and not particularly wanting to loos at the spread-eagled, eviscerated corpse on the bed, tries to put the gore out of her mind, forget her still queasy stomach and answer the question. As usual, everything between them is a teaching exercise; she hopes she can keep up with it.

"Well, rigor mortis begins at about two hours and reaches full contraction in about twelve hours. Her hands and feet have already begun, it's spread to her forearms and as far as her calves, but at the moment no further. Algor mortis; well, you covered that already."

"Then why, may I ask, did you place a temperature probe into the liver?"

She shrugs. "We live in hope?" She can see in his eyes that this is a bad answer. "I wanted to try an experiment, see just how quickly a separated liver would cool, how badly it would through off the usual calculations."

"Indeed. And what was the result?"

She inspects the small screen. "According to this it's 79.7 degrees in there, which implies 12.6 hours so it's pretty useless."

"The search for information is never useless, Miss Sky. We must have knowledge before we may determine which knowledge will be useful and which may be _temporarily_ discounted."

"Temporarily?"

"We rely on more than algor when dealing with the internal organs. But what more can be determined now?"

"Well, lividity, such as it is with the blood that she has remaining in her body, isn't completely fixed yet has already well along, even though she didn't have much blood left in her to begin with, so I'd say it's more than two hours but less than four full hours. That seems to support the rigor timing." She carefully opens the woman's right eye as much as she can against the spreading rigor. "Corneal cloudiness hasn't started, the vitreous humor is still clear so there's no buildup of potassium yet. Fortunately the eyes were closed; if they were open it might have begun by now."

"How then do you answer Agent Gibbs' inquiry?"

She looks up at the Agent towering over her. "I'll give you a full report after _our_ autopsy."

When Gibbs looks at Ducky, he doesn't care for the man's amused smile.

"Sky, come with me." He steps out of the room and into the hall, letting the door close after him.

Sammy looks at Ducky, her eyes display her apprehension but she knows better than to delay.

x

When she steps into the hall, he's ten feet to her left. She doesn't want to join him, but can see no choice. She is particularly aware of the difference between them; he towers over her by a foot, the distinction magnified by his mood. "Yes?"

"Abby found powder imbedded in the rope. Is that something you'd find in these clubs you mentioned?" He can read her thoughts in her apprehensive hesitation. "I don't care what source your information comes from, only that it's accurate."

"I've …" her voice is as small as her manner is reluctant, "… heard of it, that's really all I know. I'm a student, you understand. I read a lot."

"Of course." He can't recall when he's heard a more pathetic evasion.

"I've use ... I mean read ... that powder, it can be talc, baby powder, whatever, can be put on cotton rope and it'll help prevent chaffing."

"Does it come specially made or done by the user?"

"Well, I've … heard there are places that you can get treated rope, if you wanted to. I could look up some ... Houses that use it. Google, you know? Most people would consider it an excessive expense, but ... Well, I've read where it could be done."

"What else?"

"Well, err, you understand this ... I doubt you'd ..." She looks at everything in the corridor except his eyes. "The people who ... do this, you understand, it's consensual, you see."

"Consensual."

"_Ye_ –! That is, yes."

"If someone broke the rules?"

"He'd be blacklisted. That is ... I imagine he'd be blacklisted. I doubt anyone would stand for it."

"How would they know?"

"They'd know. We - I mean _**they **_- operate on trust. If you hear someone consistently breaks the rules it gets - I mean I _imagine _it gets around."

He steps past her and is part way to the door. "Agent Gibbs?" He turns back. "You..."

"You read some interesting books."

"Yes."

He holds the door open for her. When she reenters she has her happy face back on; he's the only one who knows that this time it's a mask.

xx

After the thorough examination of the room, it is time to begin the laborious task of preparing the body itself for transport. The ropes tied about the legs of the bed are unbound and carefully removed from her wrists and ankles, then individually stored and labeled, pictures taken at every stage. Following that, her hands and feet are enclosed in plastic to prevent loss of any trace evidence.

"Come look at this," Ducky directs the agents, pointing to the woman's right hand. Under the scored nails, tiny particles of dark red or maroon are gathered under the tips. A check of her left hand shows the same collection.

"Looks like she was scratching something up," DiNozzo says.

"What would you say it is?" Gibbs doesn't quite demand.

"I shall anxiously await Abigail's analysis."

"Your report as soon as possible."

"Ah! Now there we may have a small problem." When Gibbs turns to him, Ducky reminds him that "Tomorrow morning I am to present my testimony in the trial of Charles Morley." He notices McGee's head turn sharply to him but allows no attention to it. He knows how significant that case is to the younger man and to others in NCIS. "You recall his murders of Lt. Christina Dumas and–"

"Can't you put it off? I need you here."

"Jethro, one does not 'put off' a Criminal Court subpoena, certainly not if one hopes for a conviction. I should much rather see Charles Morley in prison for his string of dastardly murders than to spend time there myself for Contempt of Court."

"All right." He'd known this would come. He'd already given his testimony last week and isn't surprised he couldn't pressure the man into asking for any delay, though he hates the inconvenient timing. He has, however, testified in court often enough to know his hopes would be dashed.

Unlike a witness whose answers can most often be confined to 'yes' and 'no', Ducky is an Expert Witness. This means he has far more leeway to make his explanations as complete as he feels are necessary to be certain each juror, as well as the Judge and Attorneys, has a full understanding of the details. "Just make it as quick as you can."

"I shall endeavor to be brief."

x

The gag that had silenced Christine DiGiuseppi during her lengthy murder isn't found, neither are any physical traces of their quarry. It's clear that he had maintained as strict care in preventing anything from being impressed upon the room as he had been when slaughtering Corporal Sollecito. A Forensic team will conduct a minute search of the room before preparing everything in it to be transferred to NCIS headquarters for reassembling and reconstruction of the murder.

As happens too often for his taste, Gibbs must admit that the detailed job of investigation is in the hands of the scientists.

xxx

When he returns to his desk at Headquarters, Gibbs finds a note upon it, just the name Gina Lollobrigida and a phone number. Considering the report on the news station when they'd been in the hotel lobby, he considers the newspaper reporter's contact to be due. Normally he detests reporters; he understands nosiness but their nosiness usually gets in the way. He and Lollobrigida, however, have a mutually beneficial understanding: in exchange for getting exclusive rights to the full story, when it can be told, she'll make sure the story is right – and that NCIS gets the recognition it deserves. She's also been very helpful in making sure the right information, the information they want to leak out, gets to the public where it will do the most good. Dialing the number, he doesn't waste words. "I'm not telling you much."

/I never ask for much, the first time around,/ she reminds him, not perturbed by his determination. The dance is a familiar one by now.

That is part of the deal he has with the newspaper reporter. She gets first access to what can be told, clearance to tell all the facts when they come out and NCIS gets the factual news and credit it deserves. Otherwise it's a chess match between them, and he treats her with the regard due one Grand Master to another.

/What happened to Corporal Sollecito?/

"For now, he's dead."

/For now?/ She sounds like she's afraid he's going to announce a resurrection in time for the late evening run.

He considers. How much to reveal? "The killer was driving a deep blue or black SUV."

Long pause. /That's it?/

"All I can give you."

/The New York Post could scoop me on this case./

"Gonna get a lot more interesting before it's over."

/I'll hold you to that./

When he hangs up, Gibbs decides there are times when he hates being right.

xx

"What about the pine needle?" Gibbs asks before he's completely through the lab door. Some day he'll beat that annoying multi-beeping. The subject of his search, not the needle but the woman who can give him his answers about it, turns from her workstation.

"What, no 'hello, Abby?' No 'you look sexy today'? No 'Caf-Pow!'?"

"Hello, Abby. Not allowed to say you look sexy, that's 'Yellow Light'. Here," he hands her the large red and white cup, retaining his own equally formidable coffee cup. "What about the pine needle?"

"Still analyzing," she says, accepting the cup but regretting she'd told him to see her when he got back. "I should be able to tell you which tree it came from, or at least the region it came from. You _know_ I can give you a DNA match, if you had a tree to match it to. Needles and trees and soil may look alike but their individual characteristics are distinct. I don't want to send you in the wrong direction."

"Appreciated. What did you find out from your 'booty trail'?"

She smiles, pleased her allusion is catching on, at least with him. "The sample is manufactured anywhere from 1993 to 2004 and is widely used in hospitals, clinics, doctors' offices and so forth. Basically it's your garden variety scrubs."

"Ducky would probably say there's nothing 'garden variety' about scrubs."

"There's nothing 'garden variety' about Ducky – or his team for that matter – but he could certainly tell you a whole lot more about scrubs than you ever wanted to know."

"Or could survive knowing." But then he backtracks. "Team?"

"Well, Gibbs, consider Gerald, then Jimmy, then Patrick and now Sammy – Ducky's assistants are nothing if not eclectic."

"That's one word you could use."

xx

As Gibbs walks into the bullpen he's about to demand answers of his team when an unexpected call comes from high above.

"Agent Gibbs? I found it."

The agents look up to the source of the voice, finding a short, fair-haired woman leaning so far over the rail in front of MTAC that her glasses nearly fall off the end of her nose. Gibbs leads his team up the stairs, not revealing that he has no idea what 'it' is that she's found or who the _hell_ she is.

By the time they arrive, the woman has already used her optical ID to open MTAC's door and holds it open for them. Gibbs allows her to precede him down the ramp to the viewing area before the screens, Tony, Ziva and McGee trail behind. The enormous center screen is dominated by the night image of a dark SUV leaving a highway toll collection booth.

"When I came on duty last night, Abby Sciuto asked me to check all the toll booth footage for anyone fitting Christine DiGiuseppi's description," the woman explains.

"First," Gibbs interrupts, "who are you?" He doesn't bother to ask why Abby is making assignments on his case. He'll ask _her_ later.

"Sorry, sir, it's been a long night. Anne Osgik, I'm on Beta shift."

'Long night indeed', he thinks, looking at the chocolate bar wrappings and drinking cups on either side of the seat that Osgik had chosen as her post. Beta shift runs from 1600 to 2359, it's now 1322.

He sees DiNozzo's about to introduce himself, to turn on some level of annoying charm and glares him to silence. "All right, Special Agent Osgik, what've you got?"

x

"I reviewed the footage from all highway booths on Route 50 into Maryland from the time they left the Service Station until just before DiGiuseppi's card was used in Kingsland. Since EZ-Pass booths check identities by computer, mostly to bill credit cards, I concentrated on cash toll lanes. I figured your perp would anticipate you were tracking his or the victim's credit cards, and Abby didn't say whose van it was. Then I found this."

The agents view the large image again with new eyes. Taken late in the evening, the black and white picture shows a dark SUV with two people in the front seat with all the clarity the Service Station's cameras had lacked. A dark haired young woman in the passenger seat has her head tilted back, apparently asleep, more likely unconscious. Her arms are behind her, the position of her torso indicating her arms are crossed high behind her back. It is Christine DiGiuseppi.

"Doesn't look like an accomplice to me."

"Ya _think_, DiNozzo?"

The time stamp in the lower right shows the picture was taken less than 45 minutes before DiGiuseppi's card was used at the Kingsland.

"I can barely make out his face," Ziva says. The driver side is shadowed.

Gibbs takes a step closer to the large screen and squints hard to decipher the license plate. "Lima Juliet Golf 878."

"Sure it couldn't be 'Leroy Jethro Gibbs'?" Tony suggests. The glare he receives makes him reconsider another attempt at wit. "BOLO – _on it_, boss," he ascends the ramp without delay.

"I've sent the image to Abby's laboratory already," Osgik indicates the operations technician on the left side of the room. The technicians had worked in shifts for nearly a full day, she had not and the fatigue is plainly etched upon her face. The bloodshot whites of her eyes contrast strongly with the bright green of her irises.

"That was good work, Osgik."

"Thank you, sir." She turns and starts to collect the detritus accumulated over a nearly 22 hour shift.

"McGee, take Osgik upstairs and get her a proper meal, on my tab."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you," she takes a moment to give McGee a subtle but thorough once-over, and as he leads her up the ramp, she assures him that "Food would be nice, but I'd really love to go to bed."

McGee laughs awkwardly; the woman is very attractive, but he's trying not to look. He's already lived – barely – through having more than one woman interested in him, and now that he's focused on Siobhan….

xxx

"Boss," Tony reports fifteen minutes later, "black SUV Lima Juliet Golf 878 was reported stolen from Fairfax. The owner, George Munhausen, filed a report with Virginia State Police yesterday morning when it wasn't in his driveway."

"'Fleet Captain' also reported his car stolen after he met Lieutenant Wilkerson at Braddock Mall," Ziva reminds them of the on-line pedophile.

"McGee, throw up his picture." The computer 'guru' punches in a series of keystrokes and a Driver's License bearing the thin face of a sandy haired man in his mid thirties appears on the screen. "Now the toll booth shot." That picture appears beside the license. "Close enough. Gear up!"


	7. Munhausen

Chapter Seven  
Munhausen

The only thing that keeps Gibbs from braking his Dodge Charger to a screeching halt in front of George Munhausen's home in the Fairfax suburbs are two children. A girl perhaps six years old and a boy, apparently barely five, play in the yard under the watch of a blonde haired woman. As it is, he has to admit that the disembarkation of four black clad Federal Agents onto their lawn is suitably disconcerting to the suburban family. As he leads DiNozzo, McGee and David onto the property, the woman is already apprehensive. "Can I help you?"

When the four present their IDs, Gibbs explains the reason for their precipitous arrival. "George Munhausen reported a black SUV as having been stolen from here?" He won't mention that a man with similar features had been photographed driving with DiGiuseppi minutes before her murder.

The woman smiles, "Yes, but isn't this is a bit of an overkill for an eight year old van?"

"Is he home? We'd like to speak to him." They're prepared for everything from cooperation to a chase of this potential suspect.

"Of course. I'm Gloria, by the way. GEORGE!" she leads them to the door. "You'll have to excuse him, he's not as fast as he used to be."

Before they reach the screen door, the inner wooden one opens and George Munhausen balances on a pair of crutches. He's wearing a robe but it's partially open and the agents see his left leg is encased in a cast from ankle to thigh.

xx

"We first noticed it missing the morning before yesterday," George Munhausen tells them as they gather into the living room, he settling onto the couch with DiNozzo's assistance. "Thank you. Gloria had left it in the driveway the night before; we got up and it was gone."

"How long have you been in a cast, Mr. Munhausen?"

"Almost three very, very long weeks."

"George is a housepainter," Gloria volunteers, setting both her children in chairs in the next room, bowls of dry cereal before them, the pair far enough away in front of a low playing television that the adults can talk uninterrupted yet close enough to be always in sight.

"I fell off a scaffold. Let myself get distracted at the wrong moment – though when is there a right one?" Gibbs nods; this can easily be confirmed. "I was on another job, not for my usual job so I wasn't using any of my own equipment; my first mistake. Now," he boosts himself up slightly, adjusting on the couch, "why are four Federal Agents – and Navy ones at that – interested in a stolen car?"

"Because that stolen car was seen on the Maryland border, transporting a kidnapped woman who was murdered at the Kingsland hotel on Route 50."

x

Faces are sometimes very revealing, especially when they react to a sledgehammer blow between the eyes. In that unguarded moment Gibbs reads astonishment, distress, shock but no foreknowledge and no guilt.

"Oh my God," George breathes. Gloria quickly gets up, goes into the next room and takes her children's hands, leading them quickly into the back rooms. She glares her feelings about his indiscrete revelation.

"Do you have Lo-Jack or a GPS system in your van?"

Munhausen shakes his head. "We never thought anyone would steal a rusted, eight year old SUV. It needs a new transmission, body work, paint job and it's got more dents than the moon has craters. Money's tight."

"Is there anything that would attract attention?"

He shrugs. "Nothing I can think of, except to want to keep away from it. I use it for work so it usually had ladders, paint, brushes, tarps …. They weren't there now, but I had some camping equipment in it I never bothered to take out from a trip before my accident. Tent, chairs, camping equipment, some SCUBA gear, I just sort of left it there. We'd gone to the lake for the weekend before it started getting too cold, Gloria'd wanted Tommy and Dana to get to see some of the autumn foliage. I haven't been able to use it since.

"Gloria just uses it for shopping and the like, it was sitting in the garage for weeks, hardly touched. It would've still been there but the other night Tommy was acting up when she brought the kids home so she just parked it in the driveway and came in to put him to bed. Next morning we got up and it was gone."

"Anything in it besides work stuff, camping and SCUBA gear? Any weapons?"

"No. We don't own a gun, if that's what you're thinking. I've got a hunting knife that was in with the camping stuff, but that's all."

A good hunting knife can do a lot in an autopsy and is excellent for intimidating a victim into compliance. Wouldn't work particularly well on a Marine, but on his girl friend….

x

"I'd like you to look at a picture," Gibbs says. From his jacket he pulls out the toll booth image, passing it over. "Do you recognize this man?"

He stares intently, studying it. "No. I'm sorry; I don't know him." He turns the picture, pointing to the passenger. "She's dead?"

Gibbs nods. "Is that your van?"

"Yes, that's it, but I don't know either of them. _Gloria_!" A moment later she steps out of the far room, her face haggard.

"_What_?"

"Do you know either of these people?"

"No."

His shoulders slump. No one could recognize a tiny face from over twenty feet away. "Honey…"

"It's not our car, we didn't do anything, I don't know them and I'm sorry she's dead but I have to take care of the children!"

"Mrs. Munhausen," Gibbs tries.

"_What_?"

"This man has already–"

"Leave me _alone_!" she retreats into the room.

x

"I'm sorry about that. She's been under a lot of pressure since the accident. Could you leave the picture, I'll try again when she's calmed down? If she does know anything, where can I call you?"

"I can't do that. Your car might have been just a random theft, a crime of opportunity, but I don't believe in coincidence. Why was your car targeted?"

"It was sitting out in the open?"

"And where were the keys?" Munhausen's regret is so palpable Gibbs doesn't even need the soft voiced answer. Now he knows the reason for Gloria's added stress. "All right, I need an inventory of everything you had in the car, then we need to talk to your wife."

xx

The inventory doesn't make Gibbs happy. In addition to a full set of camping and SCUBA equipment is a hunting knife and tools suitable for skinning and preparing small game. Obviously the Munhausens had chosen to live off the land during that vacation. Now their supplies are in the hands of someone who has already proven himself too skilled with a blade.

The second interview with Gloria Munhausen is more illuminating than the first. Seeing that the investigators aren't going to let up, she finally agrees to look at the photo. "I think I've seen him," she reluctantly admits.

"Where?"

"I don't know. Around."

"How far around? Local? At work? At the park? At the grocery store?"

"I don't know."

"Mrs. Munhausen…"

"I don't _know_, okay? I don't even know if I have seen him, maybe it's someone else, that's _not_ a good picture! It could be anyone! I'm _sorry _I left the keys in the car! I don't know if I've seen him, all I know is our car couldn't be used in a murder!"

"Gloria –"

"_NO_! They're _wrong_! Leave me _alone_!" The sound of crying filters in through the hallway. "Now look what you've done!" she accuses her husband, getting off the couch.

Gibbs decides not to press the woman as she retreats down the hall. He could send Ziva after her to try again, but if this man is local then a canvas of the neighborhood should yield better results. He considers which teams to assign to the time-consuming task.

xxx

"Ducky," Samantha asks as she holds a section of DiGiuseppi's small intestine that hadn't been removed from her body aside so the man may examine the Sigmoid colon more closely, "if I ask you a personal question, will you give me an honest answer?"

Ducky is too surprised to be offended. "Of _course_."

"Do I drive you crazy?"

He draws his hands back from within the young woman's body. As surprised as he had been by the initial question, this one leaves him quite speechless, and not entirely with surprise but because the immediate and truthful answer would be 'yes'.

But though he'd gone as far as to seek guidance from Reverend O'Mallory, he certainly cannot tell the young woman before him that he has been counting the days until her departure.

Yet he must say something soon, because her eyes show she's on the verge of concluding the true and painful answer for herself. "Why do you ask that?" All right, he tells himself, evasive but not a lie.

"I know that sometimes I get on people's nerves," she admits, not looking up at him, her eyes locked into DiGiuseppi's torso. For one of the very rare times since he's met her she is not buoyant, not ebullient, but appears quite dejected. He wonders what brought this on, deciding it's almost like he's looking at a different person than he's known across this table for these past three weeks. "Even though most times they're too polite to say so…. That is, things are okay until the day they just blow up at me. I know, it's just that I get such a thrill out of things, I'm always, you know, happy; it's like I'm in love all the time, in love with life, that is. I try very hard not be to but I can't help how I am." She glances up at him, very briefly, but can't keep his eyes. "I was –" she looks away again. "I had a boyfriend once, did you know that?"

"I would certainly expect a personable young woman such as yourself to have had many in her history, with more to come."

"He left me," she admits sadly, staring down into the body between them. Ducky can sense that, as DiGiuseppi had had her heart and other organs literally torn out, Sky had experienced it figuratively. This is one of the very few times he has seen her less than pleased. She has a range, he's found, that runs from happy through wildly ecstatic, but for her to dip below that minimum seems rare indeed.

"He said –" she swallows hard, when she can make herself glance up for an instant there is deep pain in her pale blue eyes. She can't keep his, looking again into the cavity between them. Her body is shaking, that fine trembling of deep emotion battering hard at fierce-held shields. "He said I was – that there's something _wrong _with me. That it's – that I'm not _natural_. He said – he said he couldn't stay with someone who was happy _all the time_." She locks her eyes on the cold entrails of the woman spread wide before her.

"Since then, I've tried really _hard_ to be miserable ... but I just can't seem to manage it, not for long. Sometimes … sometimes I wonder if he's right, that I _am_ sick."

"_D__ON__'__T_!"

x

"Huh?" She jumps, startled by his anger into looking up out of the corpse.

Ducky is outraged, even while feeling a sting of secret guilt as he gains insight into the petite woman before him. He'd been taken by her at first, amused, fascinated, uncomfortable, embarrassed, annoyed, aggravated, but for the first time he's angry – and _for_ her.

"Samantha, you have a precious _gift_, something I admit I can easily envy, and you must not allow this _boy_ or anyone else, not even _me_, to deprive you of it nor diminish it in any way." Oh what he might have done to this poor girl if he had given voice to the thoughts that had been brewing in his head for days, thoughts he'd consulted Chaplain O'Mallory on. Now he has his decision. "If he could not 'handle it', that says more about the quality of his soul than it does about you. _Never_ let anyone steal this gift from you. And I am certain that, one day, you shall meet the person who shall properly appreciate you for who you _are_."

She hurries around the table and throws her arms about him in a very emotional hug. For the first time in many such occasions, for she hugs with more frequency and enthusiasm than Abby does, Ducky is comfortable enough to place his arms about her as well.

He doesn't push her away, letting her choose the moment to withdraw. "My dear," he says, looking down into her moist, pale blue eyes, "would you mind taking those samples up to Abby now?" He indicates the blood and other liquid specimens that had been withdrawn from DiGiuseppi's body.

"Sure. I'll be right back." But when she goes, she does so very swiftly indeed.

When she's gone, Ducky turns appealingly to the still face of Christine DiGiuseppi. "Would you please tell me, my dear, how I can possibly understand that young woman?" He waits, finally having to admit that "I didn't think so."

x

He turns to pick up an instrument from the table beside him and he hears the door open again. "Please do not ask me what I have, Jethro."

"Wasn't going to," Gibbs assures his old friend. "Am I getting that predictable?" He can't miss that the man doesn't answer. "Actually I was interested more in this bastard's autopsy reports than the bodies."

Ducky turns to his friend. "Ah, now _there _is a juicy mystery."

"I hope so," he assures him, having had no idea anything of the kind was in order.

Actually, he reconsiders, he has enough juicy mysteries. A few less would be a blessing.

"In both cases our adversary identifies himself as 'Pimmy Jalmer'. Needless to say, both signatures are consistent; that is, they were both made by the same person. The handwriting on both documents is quite unnatural, however."

This conclusion isn't what he expected. "In what way?"

"Normal cursive handwriting tends to vary in stress and is never precise," the man says, stepping away from the body and adopting his best pedantic style, "which is why one can tell a printed document from a handwritten one almost at a glance. Even someone with the best penmanship tends to scrawl. One grows careless, the hand muscles grow fatigued on long documents, the mind tends to outrace the hand. But that is not the case here." He leads Gibbs to his desk and picks up one of the clipboards upon which is a photocopy of the original presently secured in Abby's lab, and slowly flips through the pages.

"Here we have an example of someone using meticulous care in his writing, more so as fatigue sets in. The later work, and bear in mind he was doing the autopsies alone, at least so far as we may know, and then pausing to make notes, are written with even more care than the early work."

"This isn't the way you do yours," Gibbs points out. The differences are obvious.

"Good heavens, no, I'm much too busy most times to take even initial notes on a series of forms, though if I must do so they are considerably sloppier than these examples, I assure you. It is more usual to depend upon a tape recorder, and the report to be filled in by one of us based upon the recorded observations, but for the essential paperwork that much be done during the autopsies should someone like _you_ come in looking for answers in half completed work," he allows a wry and teasing smile before continuing, "I am sometimes obliged to call upon Mr. Palmer, now Miss Sky, for their recollections should I be unable to decipher my own handwriting."

x

Gibbs sets down the board. "How long would it take you to do an Autopsy?"

"To do a complete one, as you know, takes no less than an hour and a half. Excluding, of course, our extraneous conversations upon a number of subjects."

"A number?"

"Well…."

"But alone, making the notes yourself as you go?"

"Over two, perhaps close to three hours."

"What about Palmer, or Sky?"

"Well, as you grow in experience, increases in speed are natural. You'll recall I recently had Mr. Palmer perform the Autopsies upon the Cavaluzzis. He was quite thorough and each one took him no less than three hours. What are you getting at?"

"The time stamp on the pictures DiGiuseppi took of Sollecito in his uniform was about noon, assuming it was right. I haven't had Abby check it. But the parents pulled in at three and the autopsy was long over. Assuming Sollecito and DiGiuseppi didn't jump right onto the bed…"

The look Ducky gives him speaks volumes; two minds, one thought and that thought a very unpleasant one indeed. Before he can answer, the main doors open. "Hi, Agent Gibbs!" Sammy exclaims brightly, her normal personality blazing. She's evidently very pleased to see the tall agent and one would never think, certainly he wouldn't, that she'd been on the verge of tears just minutes ago.

"Ms. Sky," Ducky heads off whatever Gibbs might say, especially if it's intended to dim her, "please assist us in bringing Corporal Sollecito back to the table."

x

That assistance is actually limited to holding the cooler door open; it's the men who do the heavy lifting. When the body is back in place, Gibbs stands off and allows the two medical people to work. "Now, please read the details from that report on each organ in turn."

After hearing about the heart and lungs, followed by the trachea, Ducky calls a halt to the exercise. "What is the last item on the list?"

"The pancreas, doctor."

"What does it say about that?" He compares the description with the fact. "Yes, that is enough." He turns to the investigator who had been hovering at the head of the table, actually finding himself wishing for some of Sammy's élan to ease the grimness in his soul. "It serves me right for taking things at face value and not comparing the paperwork minutely to the reality as I did my own work. In general everything is accurate, but in particular it is not. I would say that much of the report was prepared ahead of time and the particulars filled in in their time. However, having only memory to go by, for if he had a tape the likelihood is that it would take too long to draw the details, some small inaccuracies crop up."

"How many?"

"Oh, a small number out of the whole, but still it proves that only part of the report had been done on site. I shall have to determine if the same applies to Ms. DiGiuseppi, but in her case I am inclined to doubt it."

"Why?"

"The note Mr. Sollecito left for his son was in the kitchen and indicated a definite amount of time, three p.m. being the deadline, as it were. In the latter case, our culprit was in control of his environment. I shall have to let you know if that allows in her case the inaccuracies we have noted."

"Conclusions?"

He steps away from the corpse. "You are dealing with a man of some skill, though it is limited. His behavior indicates an organized, meticulous personality, yet one who is willing to allow shortcuts to his goal. His memory is reasonable but not perfect. He is capable of great violence but in it is a measure of control. By that I mean that when he did not succeed in incapacitating both of them in the bedroom, his solution was a violent one.

"The bondage aspect Miss Sky pointed out is yet another facet of that need for control. There was absolutely no need to inflict this gross torture upon either of them, it would have been more of a mercy to kill them first, but he did it to establish his control over them, even to death."

xxx

"What've you got, Abby?" Gibbs asks as he strides into the lab.

"A fuzzy face." He inspects her closely. "Oh, not mine; I'm running facial recognition on the picture from the toll booth, but I could use something clearer. A _lot_ clearer. There's only so much that computer vector analysis can do, and with this fuzzy a shot we're liable to lose the ID to what the computer _thinks_ the perp looks like." She starts to turn to the screen, his two fingers block her shoulder and turn her back to him. A single finger emphasizes his words; not loud, but compelling for their restraint.

"Do not – _ever_ – assign personnel on my case without my say-so."

"I'm sorry, Gibbs," she says, her face filled with sincerity. "I thought when I left last night that we could save some time and manpower - and you're going to slap me, aren't you?"

He can barely believe she'd ask. "No, I'm not going to slap you."

"Good, because you never have and I want you to keep your perfect record."

"As long as we're clear."

"We're clear." She starts to turn to her workstation but then recalls the phone conversation earlier today, hops back around, both hands covering her derriere. "You're gonna beat my butt, aren't you?"

He laughs. "No, I'm not going to beat your butt." He'd considered it, but now certainly will not.

"It's a nice butt."

"Abby."

"All right." She turns back to her workstation and he's not entirely sure if she's relieved or not. "I compared the stuff from Sollecito's and from the hotel, it was definitely DiGiuseppi's hair and blood on the headboard, but that comes as no surprise. What might be a surprise came from her vaginal tract and uterus. To make a long and painful story short and painful, I found both motile and non-motile sperm in the samples. The non-motile sperm – that's the tadpoles with their little tails having already fallen off," at his glare she subsides, "is pretty close to a full day old. There may be some motile as well, I have to do a better DNA analysis than just the presumptive test, but I've enough in time and placement to call it Sollecito's. The other, deposited too near the labia to do any good, I'm betting is our perverted pathologist. He was either not going for full penetration, afraid he'll get blood on himself I guess; or he's really, really short."

"I'll depend on you to tell me which. How long before we get a match?"

"Match is the key word. You get me a sample of his DNA and I can tell you if it's the same guy, but as to ID'ing him, that's where things get interesting."

He doesn't like interesting. "Define interesting."

"Ninety nine point nine percent of all DNA contains the same genomes, so when we look closely it's at the remaining one tenth of one percent. You get a lot of information out of that. Given time, I can tell you probable nationality; European, Mongoloid, African. I can give you eye color, hair color…"

"I'll take what I can get. How long?"

"A week."

"Try again."

"Six and a half days."

He doesn't let his feelings into his voice. They've had the 'you can't rush science' conversation often enough. "Best speed, Abs."

"You got it. In the meantime, I'm running the Sex Crime database first. If he's not in there I'll spread out to others until I get a match. Genetic fingerprints are just like real fingerprints; you get me a good point match and IAFIS can spit out a picture, but that's not going to happen unless he's in one of the systems. Without a suspect, DNA testing will give you probabilities."

"Then what _do_ you have?"

"There was no powder on the ropes holding DiGiuseppi like there was on Sollecito's ropes. I examined the ropes that held Sollecito and DiGiuseppi with a micro-spectrometer. It tests colors, can distinguish between dozens of shades when all you'll see is white. It looks like the same rope was used for both of them but I'm not done. I have to do more tests before you can bring it to court."

"What else?"

"What makes you think there's any more?"

"I trust you."

"Thanks, Gibbs. Actually there is more, but it's bad news."

"I've had my fill of it already."

"Sorry, Gibbs, here's a little more, and it was in what Sammy brought up from her uterus. Not hers, actually, I mean DiGiuseppi's." She doesn't get the smile she'd hoped for. "I found an ovum. I haven't done the test yet but it was sitting in proximity to a bunch of little swimmers, or so Ducky says. Well, he didn't exactly say _that_, Sammy did, but I'm pretty sure it's fertilized."

Gibbs knows his thoughts can be easily read in his expression, and also knows Abby had been avoiding the last, painful line as long as possible. "Give me some good news. That's an order."

"My ovum aren't fertilized."

He shakes his head. Having nothing more to say, she turns to her workstation, bending over the microscope and he starts out. As he passes, she leaps several inches at the sharp sting on her derriere.

She stares after him as he leaves, and it's well that he doesn't turn around, for her look is not entirely one of annoyance.

xxx

"Boss, we've a problem," McGee calls as he sees Gibbs approaching from the elevator.

"You know how I feel about problems, McGee," he replies as he rounds the corner, and a glance at the clock shows it to be 1628.

"You prefer answers, but I just heard from Virginia Stoner, the Assistant Manager of the Kingsland Hotel."

Gibbs strides over to the man's desk. "You gonna make me _guess_?"

"No, boss, it's just that you usually tell me what I heard before I can tell …" the deadly glare warns McGee of his mounting danger. "One of the staff, Maria Sanchez, reported for work today but no one can remember seeing her all day. She's a room attendant – a maid – but when a guest checked in a half hour ago into room 539, he found her cart there."

Gibbs turns to his own desk, a signal for the others to gear up. "Bastard killed DiGiuseppi, took Sanchez and has had her for –" he turns back.

"Err," McGee glances at his watch, "she went on duty at 9 this morning, they start sweeps at 10. No one remembers seeing her after breakfast. If he took her at check out, that was just after 11. Make it five and a half hours."

"What about the team on site?"

"They, err, they finished interviews two hours ago and returned to Headquarters. They filed a report." He expects a slap to the head and is surprised to get none. No one had anticipated this development.

"And Agent Watson watching the room?"

"The Assistant Manager, Ms. Stoner, confronted him but he'd seen nothing. He was on post on 6, this happened on 5. He's taking reports."

Gibbs doesn't trust himself to say anything; it would only be an angry growl.


	8. Overlook

Chapter Eight  
Overlook

Gibbs' Charger, with DiNozzo riding shotgun and Ziva following with McGee in the MCR truck, turns in to the rear parking lot of the Kingsland Hotel. He'd taken the side street approach on the last leg to escape backed up traffic on the highway, preceding the black and white truck into the lot at 1716. As they approach the building, DiNozzo says sharply "Lima Juliet Golf 878!"

He has to brace his hands on the glove compartment when the Charger screeches to a halt. He'd been ready for the stop but braces himself for the impact, hoping Ziva has been alert. When the van doesn't dent Gibbs' fender he breathes a sigh of relief. "Your reflexes are still good, boss."

"Ziva's lucky hers are too." When they get out, they see how near a thing it had been. Half an inch separates the rear and front fenders.

"You could not have stopped harder?" Ziva demands as she jumps from the truck.

"I'll work on it," he snaps. "If we'd come in this way the first time…."

x

Though Gibbs had passed the SVU parked on their right, the MCR truck had not cleared it. Gibbs directs the truck be moved back and then the examination may begin. First the large, dented black vehicle is photographed from all sides, following which a visual inspection reveals "The back is empty."

Munhausen had reported storing camping supplies in it; it will be part of the team's job to determine where they are. "Tony, you and Ziva take this. Call it in, get a Forensics team out here, then have it brought back in. McGee, you're with me." They must still investigate Maria Sanchez's disappearance.

When the agents enter the rear of the Hotel, they make their way to the front lobby where they find Stoner waiting, eyes locked on the revolving door as though she could conjure them by angry will alone. Even from yards away they can feel aggravation and frustration coming from her. Gibbs waits until they're directly behind her before calling her attention.

"Well, you took you sweet time getting here," she snaps, her voice low but every word stabs them. "Bad enough I have a dead guest and agents interrogating every one of my staff but when they can do some good they're gone! Where the hell were you?"

"Exploring, what've you got?"

"What I _don't_ got is Maria Sanchez! She reported for work this morning and started on the fifth floor. We found her cart in 539."

"Is that near an elevator?"

"It's near Stairwell C, right opposite it."

"And downstairs from 647."

"Yes."

"The stairwell doors, they have windows?"

"Of course they have windows!"

To Gibbs the sequence of events is obvious. For whatever reason X, very likely since he was still wearing bloody scrubs, decided not to take the elevator but used the stairs. Maybe he saw Maria Sanchez or, like an addict, having killed Christine DiGiuseppi, might actively have looked for a new victim. Either way, he forced her to leave, sealing the cleaning cart into the room.

He'll check this reconstruction with Watson when he sees him.

"Do you have a picture of Sanchez?"

"Forget the damn picture, get out there and look for her!"

Gibbs doesn't come back to her anger. "It'll help to find her if we know what she looks like."

"There's one in her Personnel file. Follow me," she commands.

She leads Gibbs and McGee behind the front desk into the office, stalks straight to the file cabinet in the far corner and yanks it open.

She searches the drawer, rips out a file folder, opens it and shoves it toward Gibbs. He barely glances at the color photo attached to the front sheet before he passes it to McGee.

"Wow."

"Yeah, she's gorgeous, will you _help_?"

"That's not what I mean," McGee tells her, offended.

Gibbs' voice is grim, "Did you look closely at Christine DiGiuseppi?"

"Are you _kidding_?"

"Black hair, Mediterranean features, dark complexion. That description fits them both."

McGee is looking at another page in the folder. "Is this information on her car current?"

"I don't know, I guess so."

"It says its equipped with On-Star Security / Emergency Alert system, 24 hour monitoring."

"Check it out."

He takes the file to the far corner of the room, pulls out his cell phone.

x

"On-Star is feeding the information through NCIS," McGee reports, breaking in on Stoner's impassioned answers to Gibbs' questions, deciding they're a waste of time. His information is more salient. "I asked Special Agent Williams to direct the feed from MTAC to my unit. The car is stationary in the Maryland hills."

"Let's go." Gibbs isn't sorry to leave the intense woman behind, feeling a moment's sympathy for her staff. He grants that fear drives her, but she's not in charge of herself or the situation. They hurry out the back as they had arrived and pause only momentarily at the recovered SUV to update the others in machine gun phrases. He directs David to get the vehicle in to Abby and DiNozzo to jump into the back seat. Gibbs floors the gas pedal, not even hearing Ziva's protest. "Sanchez's Camaro is thirty miles north of here."

"At warp 9," DiNozzo fights G-forces and strains with the seatbelt, "we should be there before I get this on."

X

It's not literally so, but still not long before the urban landscape of Maryland is left behind and the Charger, following McGee's directions, begins a steady climb through woodland hills. Most leaves have fallen in the early December chill; Gibbs doesn't like it, fewer leaves means less cover for their approach.

"What do you figure," DiNozzo asks, checking his Sig and hoping he won't have to use it, "mountain cabin?"

"We'll know when we get there."

"Mile and a half," McGee announces. At Gibbs' reckless speed, they should be on their target in slightly over a minute.

x

Gibbs would prefer to approach on the wooded, winding road through the hills in stealth, but if they hope to rescue Maria Sanchez alive, speed is more essential than stealth.

Unfortunately, seconds before they reach the site a green Camaro launches out of a clearing on the right and rockets up the road. They slow at the spot where the car left, only a glance is needed to show them their failure.

"DiNozzo, out!"

He yanks the belt lock with one hand, the door handle with the other, jumps and lands on his feet as the Charger rips away; the speed of its launch closes the rear door. DiNozzo takes a few steps from the road, hoping the cloud of dust will clear quickly. He shakes his head, lips tightly to contain a string of invectives worthy of Dirty Harry.

Thirty feet in from the road, amid untended grass and bushes, lies the supine body of a naked woman, her arms and legs spread-eagled, her blood drenched torso opened wide.

x

Gibbs' Charger keeps pace with the Camaro up the winding incline, rocketing at a speed only a madman would dare and a furious man maintain. McGee keeps silent as he clings to the leather strap mounted over the door, doing nothing that will break Gibbs' concentration. The engine roars as they reach a brief space of straight road, McGee's anxious glance shows the meter approaching 100, but this is the same expanse the other car already traversed and it is already slowing for a left turn about 11 seconds ahead of them.

Their wheels scream as Gibbs takes the turn hard and McGee clutches the strap; a stomp on the accelerator and the needle climbs back past 100. Now the road is straight for a considerable distance and when McGee sees the end of the road far ahead he feels all his blood drain.

"Boss, overlook."

"I see it, McGee," he replies with astonishing calmness. Far ahead, beyond a sharp left, a scenic overlook offers a breathtaking view of the mountains beyond. For McGee it's more than breathtaking, the ground seems to vanish from the side of this hill.

McGee's eyes widen in horror as they approach, he can see cars parked and people gathered in that spot, enjoying the vista. A rapid calculation on the car accelerating a quarter minute ahead of them: "Boss, he won't clear that turn without hitting someone!"

Gibbs slaps the horn with his left hand, holds it while driving one-handed, sending out a blast of sound. Far before them, the people on the edge of the cliff turn, realize their danger and dash out of the way. Still the Camaro continues its flight.

"If he doesn't slow down, he's not going to mak – – _Oh __**HELL**_!" McGee can't believe the green car crosses the overlook, breaks the barrier and flies into the air. It continues forward, slowly sinking below the horizon, gone before Gibbs starts to apply the brakes and brings the Charger to a halt two feet before the cliff.

Adrenaline helps McGee launch out of the car, a glance at Gibbs angers him; the man has all his color. The two men look over the edge at a huge irregular lake that has to be over three miles in circumference. For McGee, it's staring down into his watery almost-grave.

Far out from the edge of the hill, a series of expanding concentric circles, like rings of a target, surround a bull's eye of bubbles.

x

The two men, one angry and the other hiding a deadly trembling, stare into the lake with inexpressible emotions. Seven people had stopped to enjoy a pleasant view of the lake and hills beyond and instead they got a view they'd never imagined. The concentric circles expand about bubbles to mark a spot far from the shore 500 feet below.

"McGee, mark that spot."

Tim doesn't need the order explained. Pulling out his cell phone, he adjusts the video camera and takes first a wide angle view, then narrows the field and marks a point directly below them straight out to the opposite shore. Then he selects a landmark on the shore to his left and pans through the now very wide mark to the right shore. Using these coordinates, they will be able to direct the search for a body.

"I'd never imagined it would end like this."

"It never ends the way you imagine it." He waits for a sign of life. A minute, two, four… at eight he decides the chase is done. "You have the time on that thing?"

"Yes, boss. I started recording at 1747, memory filled at 1751."

"Call DiNozzo, tell him what happened. We're done here." He opens his own phone. "We need to get Maryland Troopers out here and get divers into the water."

"It's going to be hard to get that car out, hardly anyplace down there to set up a tow." The cliff base is just a few feet from the edge of the water.

"Divers will find the body down there, the car can wait. Sanchez won't need it."

xx

Anthony DiNozzo closes his cell phone, having already contacted Ducky to come to yet another evisceration and then exchanging information with McGee. He feels grim satisfaction in knowing that, with all that had been done to Sollecito, DiGiuseppi and now Maria Sanchez, it's over and their quarry, whoever he is, has paid the ultimate price.

He knows this road, having taken a very good if temporary friend on a camping trip further up the incline two years ago. There is the one road up, to get down you must turn around and Gibbs would not have been willing to let him pass. Spectacular as his end was, the way he'd taken was Jack's only way to avoid capture.

He puts the phone away and regards Sanchez from fifteen feet away, feeling no desire to get closer. He'd jumped from the car empty handed. Ziva, at the far away parking lot, has the MCR Crime Scene truck with all their equipment. He has little to do but to secure the scene against the unlikely late evening hiker who might brave the woods in the first week of December.

High on this hill it's quite cool indeed, and with the sun already dipping below the horizon he wishes for more than his black field jacket. There'd been no time at the start of this trek to consider warmer clothes; the day had begun as reasonably mild, but the falling night will probably be a bitch. He'd have asked Ducky to bring something but it's too late now, he and Sammy are already on their way.

He considers, and quickly rejects, the idea of borrowing a spare set of Ducky's coveralls. He's lived that humiliation once already.

He looks to Maria Sanchez, far more inconvenienced than he hopes ever to be. Though nude, her hotel uniform scattered in all directions, she is beyond any more needs.

x

Tent spikes had been driven into the ground and well used rope secures her limbs spread-eagled in the untended brush. Munhausen, owner of the SUV Ziva presently investigates in the Kingsland Hotel parking lot, had been a camper and had these and other items in the back of the vehicle since before the accident that had incapacitated him.

The unknown killer Tony had named 'Jack the Ripper' in his own mind, had cut two deep incisions into Maria Sanchez's chest, from shoulders to sternum, then one down to her groin, opening her up in the classic 'Y' cut. The volume of blood spilled proves that she, like her two predecessors, had been alive through this. Her screams had not alerted anyone because her mouth is stuffed with what appears to be blue panties held in place by her white bra tied tightly about her head.

Her rib cage had been cut and laid aside on a blue plastic sheet spread next to her. A small saw from the camping supplies lies nearby. Her heart and lungs had been removed en bloc and set beside the bones. Nothing more had been done, 'Jack' had been interrupted, undoubtedly by the sound of their approach. He'd pulled away seconds before they'd arrived.

Whether Sanchez had been raped prior to death or would be after as DiGiuseppi had been Tony will leave for Ducky to determine. He doesn't want to know.

x

His cell phone rings again, he pulls it out but checks the name displayed before opening it. "Ziva."

/The Forensics team has arrived to take charge of the SUV. They have a tow to take it to Headquarters and I should be on your site shortly./  
"Bring some warm clothes."

/You mean you do not have enough to keep you warm, my little hairy butt?/ She breaks the connection before he can reply.

'Hairy butt'. That had started not long after they'd met, during their first deep undercover assignment. Now that he and Jeanne are no longer seeing one another and he'd been secretly seeing the Mossad 'assassin', it had resurfaced. "Maybe if it's such an issue," he muses, "I should let her shave me." He turns to Sanchez. "What'da you think?"

xxx

Gibbs checks his watch for the sixth time as the heads of two divers clear the water of Compton Lake. It's 2137 and the space on the shore at the base of the cliff face is crowded with a dozen Maryland Troopers. Half as many vehicles, including the Crime Scene truck, pack the scenic overlook five hundred feet above.

It had been a rappelling descent and will be a challenging return to the top. The only light comes from stars, a three quarter waxing moon and three almost as inadequate spotlights shining from high above.

Gibbs waits until the men reach the shore. Maryland Troopers, they report to their superior standing to Gibbs' right. "Car's empty, Sergeant. It landed upright but the right side doors are wedged against a rock. Driver side door is closed and locked but the window's down. No sign of a body."

"Currents?" It could have drifted away.

"None to speak of, plant life is pretty still. There was a SCUBA tank in the back seat, no other gear, but if there had been he could have gotten away."

"Sorry, Agent Gibbs," the Sergeant says, "looks like your hunt's not over."

x

Compton Lake has a circumference of over three miles, most of it accessible only by climbing down the surrounding hills. It is, therefore, visited only by the adventurous and those seeking solitude. In the early weeks of winter those will be few indeed. A search for a SCUBA equipped felon who could come out of the water at any point and climb to freedom is not one to be accomplished quickly nor well in the night. NCIS Gamma shift agents and Maryland Troopers will begin the careful screening. Gibbs sends his team, which has been on duty for fourteen hours, home for the night. Ducky has already determined that Maria Sanchez will be autopsied – properly – in the morning. He and his assistant are already gone.

xxx

Gibbs finishes changing into pajamas and turns out his light, determined to put this case from his mind for a few hours and address it fresh in the morning. His last sight before he closes his eyes is the illuminated time on his clock, 23:11.

x

When the ringing of his cell phone drags him awake, the first thing his eyes focus on is that same clock: 3:58. Turning on the lamp, he reaches for the phone, reading the Caller ID displayed on the lid. 'I don't believe it,' he thinks with a mental groan. He opens the unit, cutting off the noise. "You're supposed to be on your Honeymoon," he growls.

/Well, err, I am. That is I –/

"Palmer, I don't know what time it is out there, but –"

/Oh, it's about eleven o'clock./

"Well here it's four in the _morning_. What do you want?"

/Well, you see, we were checking e-mail, that is 'Chelle was, I don't usually get official messages that go to Field Agents and –/

"Palmer, I'm reserving a good head slap for when I see you on Monday. What's your _point_?"

/Why does NCIS have a BOLO out for Don Powers driving a black SUV?/


	9. Taiwan On

Chapter Nine  
Taiwan On

Gibbs sits up, the blanket falling from his chest, all thoughts of sleep banished. "Wait a minute, you _know_ this bastard?"

/I recognize him, yes, from that picture at the toll booth. I don't know as I'd call him a 'bastard', he's really a nice guy but–/

"_PALMER_!"

/Okay, there's no need to shout,/ he sounds grieved. /Yes, I knew him; we were in Medical School together. That is we were, we're both studying in a special M.D. class for people determined to be Pathologists until last year when he got expelled./

"Why?"

/I never found out. One Monday morning he just didn't show up for lab work, I found out from one of the other students that he was expelled over that weekend. It was late May I remember, because we were just a few weeks from Finals and I remember thinking how bad it was that he'd come so close and then to be kicked out. But even though he was gone I had my studying to do so I didn't really pay any more atten–/

"Do you know where he lives?"

/He _lived_ on campus, in one of the dorms. I don't have any idea where he went after that. Like I said, he was in class on Friday, I never saw him after that./

"Do you know if he knows anything about diving? About using SCUBA equipment?"

/I think so. Yes, he did, I remember now./

On a hunch, Gibbs asks "How did he feel about emotion?"

/Huh?/

"Would you say that he deals well with emotion?"

/…nooo, from what I remember I'd say not. He used to say women were too emotional, for one thing. I remember he made a stir once in a Lecture Hall by insisting that women should be forced to have their adrenal glands removed at puberty. A lot of them didn't take well to that./

"I guess not." Ducky had determined last night, in examining Maria Sanchez's body staked out in that field, that her adrenal glands had also been excised, the same as had been done with Sollecito and DiGiuseppi. "Saying that, he probably had trouble getting dates."

/Oh, he didn't just say it, he _insisted_ it should be mandatory./

"That's it?"

A long time to consider. /I guess so. I hope it helps./

"It helps. Forget about the slap, get back on Michelle," he closes the phone and realizes too late he'd intended to say 'to'.

But it's probably not all bad. Palmer'll probably insist he was only following orders.

xxx

DiNozzo, McGee and David step off the elevator into Operations, none of them happy this dreary Friday morning. Ziva, in fact, can feel her breakfast already arguing with her over the knot in her stomach. It has been a bad few days, replete with three violent, nauseating murders and an unknown suspect too skilled at hiding his identity.

When they enter the bullpen, they're even more displeased to see that their boss is already at his desk, showered, shaved and suited, ready for a long, intense day. "You're late."

They exchange glances. This is going to be another bad day. DiNozzo, as Senior Field, bites the bullet. "Boss, it's six forty five."

Gibbs picks up the plasma screen remote and activates the unit. On it appears a full face and profile Police booking record of a sandy haired and mustached Caucasian man in his mid-20's. The placard gives his name and police ID number, along with the year.

"Donald Victor Powers, born May 22, 1978 in Silver Spring Maryland and expelled from Medical School, arrested and charged with a total of eight counts of menacing, five counts of aggravated sexual assault – one with a deadly weapon, attempted murder and arson. He spent the last year in Maryland State prison before being paroled in April.

"He was studying to be a Forensic Pathologist while at the same time harassing his female schoolmates, most of who came forward _after_ his arrest. On Friday, May 22 last year he celebrated his birthday by attempting to rape a fellow student in one of the labs. When she resisted he cut her with a scalpel, she needed 48 stitches. She fought him off but before she could escape he doused her with alcohol and set her on fire." He gives them a moment to catch up, and to appreciate the horror that woman had experienced; deeply cut, bleeding profusely and aflame…. He wants his team to know just what kind of bastard they're looking for.

"A janitor heard the commotion and managed to snuff out the flames. She survived, needed grafts and reconstructive surgery. He was convicted, and among other punishments the AMA and the American Board of Pathology each banned him from practicing for life. Whereabouts since April of _this_ year," he turns to them, "_fi__nd_ him!"

"Ah, boss?" DiNozzo tries as they separate to their respective desks, "not to belittle an amazing piece of detective work, but how did you find out about all this?"

"It came to me in the middle of the night. Get on it."

"Yes, boss."

xxx

Though told to track Powers, DiNozzo's research had also revealed that, in the circles of being tied down, anyone who's into bondage or S&M ultimately winds up at the 'Taiwan On Club' on L street. Powers seems to do things, that is, tying down women, the way the B&D practitioners do. As soon as Gibbs learned about this L Street club, he redirected him. Thus, less than an hour later, he stands outside the club.

It's as Asian as Grauman's Chinese Theater used to be, though from the red painted pagoda motif to the Asian writing on the exterior it presents a good front. That the neighborhood is Italian and German with a bit of Polish mingled in makes it stand out like a dry thumb on a mermaid, but Tony doesn't care how they decorate as long as they can point him to a killer.

The upper two levels of the building are as nondescript a brick face as one could hope for, but there is no apparent outside entrance to the building other than through the pagoda door.

Once through that front door the change is startling. It's warm, easily 70 degrees, the lights are dim to the point of patrons risking tripping over their own feet. A bar runs the left length of the long, black walled room and the spacious floor is dotted with small round tables covered in black cloth. The staff's attire screams 'Fetish' through a megaphone, being primarily leather and bare skin, hence the heat, undoubtedly in several senses. The music that fills the room from black ceiling speakers hidden in the shadows is gothic Goth.

"I should've brought Abby," he mutters as a young woman approaches. Her stilettos and shiny black leather bodice and panties conceal no secrets.

"Good morning, sir, would you care for a complimentary drink?" The tray she carries contains a chain wrapped about a bottle of beer.

"Err, maybe later, thanks." It is the first time he can recall turning down a woman's offer in a very long time, but he needs a minute to get his bearings. Her long, straight black hair frames a slim Asian face adorned with black lipstick and mascara. If Abby is having fun with her Goth lifestyle, these people are having way too much fun. The atmosphere in this room and the patrons at bar and table seems more parody than party. "Is the owner here?"

"My owner is."

'Okay, that's it, fun is fun but it's too early in the day for it.' He takes out his ID case, displaying his gold shield. "Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS, I'd like to speak to the owner of this establishment if you don't mind."

"I don't mind. I like policemen," she looks him down and up, evidently liking what she finds, "especially big policemen with handcuffs." She turns and leads him toward the bar with a definite bump to her grind. He follows, hardly minding the view, particularly around her small leather panties.

x

The woman at the bar is tall, her black leather bodice lifts very distracting treasures and her voice is smooth honey. "I saw you flashing a badge," she says, leaning suggestively upon the bar top, "but I didn't recognize it. May I?" He hands it to her. "Naval Criminal? We don't get a lot of criminal types here, but for someone who carries handcuffs we can always make an exception."

"I have a friend who's into Goth," he points generally about the room, "who'd consider this over the top."

"This _is_ over the top. It's daytime." He allows his eyes to ask the question. "This is for the thrill seekers who want to say they had lunch at a Goth Club. Come back after dark if you want to see the real thing. The only problem you'll have is its 'Members Only' then, so you'd need an escort," she looks him over quite indiscreetly, "though if you're 'strapped', I'll be glad to do you."

"I'll consider it." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a photograph. When she sees it her smile destructs. "I don't have to ask if you know him, do I?"

"He's banned from this club – for _life_! Which I hope won't be long at all."

"Tell me about it."

"Why?"

"He's been a bad boy. And if I'm not mistaken, he's been a bad boy here too, hasn't he?"

"We're used to dealing with bad boys, but he's a certified _monster_." She looks about, then calls across the room to a slim black woman wearing what is now clearly a uniform (or partial uniform). "Ilene, cover the bar, will you? Come with me," she commands, adding "please" at his startled look.

She goes to the left end of the bar, lifts up the end so she can exchange places with the other woman, who gives Tony a smile as she takes over. He follows the taller woman through a black door almost hidden in the shadows.

x

The office inside is as normal as the bar is outré; desks and filing cabinets, a Xerox machine, fax and two desktop computers. There's a coat stand by the door, she grabs a long black terrycloth robe as she enters, pulls it on and ties it securely. In normal light Tony can see her age is closer to forty than it had been in the shadows and red lighting.

"This is a respectable club. We're not breaking any laws here and everything that goes on is absolutely consensual. Members sign a contract when they join specifying that what they do is consensual, that their guests are required to understand that and that we reserve the right to sue _them_ if there is any trouble. No one under 18 gets through our door – _ever_."

"I'm not Metro, I'm looking for Donald Powers, and anything you can help me with I'd really appreciate. Beyond that, I don't care what happens here."

"Thank you."

"What may I call you?" he asks, hardly expecting to get her real name.

"Mistress Sylvia."

"What does happen here, by the way?" he asks in as charming a manner as he can, eliciting a smile from her.

x

"This is a friendly place where hungry and thirsty people have their needs met, and they can meet. Upstairs is strictly 'Members Only'; no one gets past the back door without one of our special IDs. I'm only telling you this so you'll know we run a clean operation and understand why Powers is banned."

"Like I said, you're not under investigation. He is."

She takes several moments to consider. "Our three levels of membership are Silver, Gold and Diamond. Silver membership will get you half price discounts on drinks and meals and there's no Cover charge at the door. That's $100 a month, or a thousand for the year."

"Steep."

"You haven't had one of our steaks. Anyway, Silver membership doesn't get you upstairs but you can go up under the escort of a Gold or Diamond. Gold membership is $300 a month and allows you free dinners and access to any of our private rooms on the second or third floors for two hours at a time. Every room is a different style, and we have all styles."

"And what goes on up there?"

"Whatever your little heart desires, so long as it's consensual and doesn't disturb any of the other sessions."

"Sex?"

"You can get that anywhere. We cater to the imaginative, the bizarre … but if you and she want a little friction that's your business. You can bring a guest – the staff does _not_ get involved. There is no soliciting here; you want a partner, you bring him or her. Anything goes from there, as long as it's consensual."

"And if it's not consensual?"

"Then Tony, Rocco, George, Ted, Mike, Harry and Bruno open your head."

"Good incentive."

"The best."

x

"What about Diamond membership?"

"That's $500 a month and no limits. You can stay all day if you want – but still none of the staff are involved. That's my one hard and firm rule; I'm not getting busted for running a brothel. Members and guests only get upstairs, and it's not easy to get a membership. I inspect everyone closely."

"Something tells me Powers failed inspection."

"No, he actually passed, that was my fault. I do detailed inspections when you apply, but up until he fucked us up I didn't take the time for follow-ups. Now Gold and Diamonds get checked every six months and I'll revoke your membership like" *_snap_* "_that_ if I feel I have to."

"And what went wrong?"

"Powers was a Gold member for over a year and I hadn't had any problems with him. He liked the rough stuff, role play, bondage, a bit of whipping and slapping. We've all sorts of specialty rooms, sixteen rooms spanning every classic motif you can imagine, and Diamond members can request something special with enough notice. Anyway, one of the rooms is a Doctor's examining room. You can play Doctor / Patient, Nurse / Patient, Doctor / Nurse, just use your imagination and clean up after yourselves. The instruments are real, they all work, but nothing is sharp. No cutting, no blood. The scalpel's no sharper than a butter knife.

"One day this bastard comes in, he's going to play operation with this chick. Fifteen minutes later she's screaming her head off. They know screams upstairs; these were the real thing. Tony, George, Mike and Bruno come busting in, there are no locks on the door, he's got her tied to a table and he brought his _own_ scalpel!"

"Ouch."

"Damn straight ouch. He made it out by cutting his way through them but she was a bloody mess, bastard tried to cut her _tits_ off! She needed thirty-eight stitches and sued _us_! We settled out of court for $35,000 and I blacklisted him all over the world! If I get my hands on him I'll get my 35 grand out of his skin."

"NCIS gets his skin first, but I'll save you a wedge. Any idea where we can find him?"

"Our lawyers are still hunting him. He moved out of the place he was at when we first checked him, I can give you that for what good it'll do you."

She goes to the computer on the desk on her right. Within a minute a paper ejects from the printer across the room.

"Thanks. I'll be in touch."

"I hope so," Sylvia grins salaciously, her anger evaporating. "You really are a babe in the woods, aren't you?" she makes a show of looking him over. "I like innocents."

"Okay," he's even more uncomfortable, "thank you, you've been a big help."

"So," she reaches out, her hand on his cheek, a tantalizing smile on her black lips, "can I interest you in a membership?"

"I'll, err, have to think about it."

"Think _hard_."

xxx

A half hour later Tony steps off the elevator and nearly collides with the rest of the team. Gibbs pushes him back on board, the doors close and the car descends. "Nice to see you too, boss. Where are we going?"

"North shore of Compton Lake, our search party found a set of breathing tanks and fins hidden in some bushes at the edge of the water."

"They followed a trail through the bushes to a road a hundred feet up," Ziva tells him. "There they found a man's body tucked into the bushes on the far side of the road. He had been stabbed twenty one times. They have already called Ducky, he will meet us there."

"His ID came back," Tim concludes the story, "Robert Sherman of Glen Cove, New Jersey. He and his wife Justine are on vacation. No sign of the car or the wife."


	10. Get the Hell off this Crime Scene

Chapter Ten  
Get the Hell off this Crime Scene!

When Gibbs' car, preceding the MCR van, pulls to the side of the road above Compton Lake, three NCIS vehicles are already parked and Ducky's M.E. van is among them. It's the first time Gibbs can recall Ducky beating him to a scene.

When he gets out, Gibbs receives the report of Special Agent LiGreci. "The blood pools first in the middle of the road, then you see it smears off toward the left. Fortunately there's no real traffic here this time of year and with the blood and disturbed gravel in the middle of the road we got lucky. We haven't seen any cars since we got here." He points to straight black marks in the asphalt.

"There are tire skids from a jackrabbit start and impact spatter on the right side of the road. His body looks like it'd been dragged through the blood to the edge and hidden about five feet deep into those bushes. The M.E.'s assistant is checking out the man's body."

"Assistant? Where's Ducky?"

He shrugs. "Not here. She came alone."

Gibbs stalks across the road and carefully makes his way through the high brush on a circuitous circuit that will not damage any evidence. It's easy to find the body, which has been laid on its back at the base of a tree. Samantha Sky, wearing her extra small blue jumpsuit, crouches over the body, her back to him.

"_Where's Ducky_!"

She starts at his sharp demand, but by the time she looks over her shoulder her face is wreathed in a smile. "Hi, Agent Gibbs! Sorry, I'm not Ducky, but if it'll make you feel better _you_ can call me 'Chicky'."

"I _asked_ you a _question_!"

The demand washes the smile from her face. "_Jesus_, he's still in Court. He said on the phone I should do the preliminary examination and–"

"Get the _Hell_ off this Crime Scene!"

x

She comes up to her full five foot two and steps over brush to within an inch of him, and though he towers over her by a full foot her anger makes up the difference. "Now you listen to me," her low tone carries only the inches between them but burns with fiery outrage, "you may be Deputy Special Agent-in-Charge with power to tell any other Special Agent what to do, but _I_ am the Acting Assistant Medical Examiner and I _have_ a boss and _he_ told me what to do here! I will follow his orders until he tells me otherwise."

"One thing you'd better learn right now, young lady, is that we have a Chain of Command here and I am in charge of him as well. That means that he follows my orders and so do _you_, and I will not have an 'Acting Assistant Amateur' messing up my Crime Scene."

"I am not _stupid,_ I am not an Amateur and I am not taking one step out of these woods until my boss tells me to. I've made some discoveries I can report if you want to hear them instead of treating me with such disrespect.

"I know you don't particularly like me, I don't know _why_ because I can't remember having done anything to _you_. But I have been studying medicine for nearly five years, going for my M.D. and ultimately an M.E. It's one of the two main things I want to do in my life and I _know_ what I'm talking about. Your own M.E. is satisfied about that or he wouldn't have sent me here! Now, do you want a report or _not_?"

"Fine, let's hear your 'report'."

x

She visibly forces her anger down but is still far from her normal joyous élan, just enough to talk civilly to him. "First, Ducky said Christine DiGiuseppi died when her rib cage was cut away. She _didn't_!"

Now she has his attention. "Tell me."

"Her heart was still beating when her rib cage was removed; she survived the incisions and the removal of the bones. He made a three quarter inch slit in her aorta; it would have shot a stream of blood up and about until she did die. He probably blocked it with something until it stopped."

"How did she survive everything he did before that?"

"I Googled her. She was a marathon runner, collected trophies for years. She placed 27th in the Women's division of last year's New York marathon. You could see how toned she was; Agent DiNozzo even commented on something like that in the hotel room. She had what it took to survive.

"I also found out Powers is ambidextrous, something to watch out for if you go up against him. The scalpel work on all three bodies was canted to the right in most but not all cases, but the work done on Maria Sanchez, who he'd just begun on, was more noticeably both left _and_ right," she points down to the body at their feet, "and the stab wounds on this body were all done by the left hand. I found bruising to his neck that shows he was held down by the right hand while the knife was being used.

"The blade was horizontal rather than vertical as one would normally see in an overhand stabbing, but the position of the neck wound shows Powers had to be above or straddling the body when the knife was used. It was probably held sideways, canted left though it was, to prevent it being caught in the ribs.

"There are twenty-one stab wounds, all to the chest. The blade is a single edge serrated. Several of the wounds had impact impressions of the guard, so I was able to get a maximum size of 7 inches long. Now that's what I've found _so far_, if you'll leave me be and let me work I can find out more!"

Gibbs regards the petite young woman with more respect than he'd felt before. Munhausen had had a hunting knife in with the rest of his gear. It was probably transferred out of the SVU into Sanchez's car, used to kill her as well as the man at their feet. He'll check on that later. "Good work," he tells her with a nod, turns and starts back out the way he'd come, but then he turns to see her still watching him, "Chicky."

x

"McGee," he calls as he steps out of the brush onto the road, "is there a BOLO out on Sherman's car and wife?"

"I e-mailed the details to Henderson, he's putting it together now."

"LiGreci, when this bastard takes someone he generally travels for some time before finding the spot for his killing. How long ago do you think this happened?"

"Blood's still a little wet. The tanks and fins were still wet. I'd say if it wasn't condensation there's about two hours worth, but those tanks won't have lasted anywhere near that long underwater. He probably laid low until sun-up, waited until he started to hear traffic above, then came out. It looks like he stayed for some time in the bushes to the right of the road, probably flagged those people down for help.

"He pulled the husband out of the car and killed him, spatter on the other side shows he might have used some blunt weapon on the passenger. If the wife got out he probably subdued her and put her back in before driving off."

xxx

Two hours later, feeling he has given Abby enough time to conduct an examination of the stolen SUV, Gibbs strides into the garage. He sees her lower legs sticking out from under the driver's door. "What've you got, Abby?" Between his second and third words, he hears a 'clunk' from under the vehicle.

"_Ow_! The beginning of a _lump_ – thank you very _much_."

"Never mind that, what did you find?"

She uses her feet to drag her body out upon a rolling platform, and when she's out he sees her grease stained orange jumper and a new smear planted upon her forehead. "God, I thought _I_ was the only one who woke up this morning on the wrong side of the coffin," she looks more closely at him. "You look terrible."

"When I'm in mine, maybe I'll get some rest." He takes her extended hand and boosts her to her feet. She uses a rag to wipe her forehead, smearing the mark rather than cleaning it.

"The bottom of a car is a historical record of everyplace it's been and believe me, this thing's been everywhere." Gibbs grabs the rag out of her hand as she gestures emphatically to emphasize her points. "But I did find, in the cab, a reasonable print of a bootie covered size 11 Adidas, more later. You already know this thing was last in the woods before spending a couple weeks in a garage. Remember the pine needle and soil on the driveway outside the Sollecito's house, well actually the Field Forensics Team found it, I don't get out much–"

"Abby."

"You really should switch to decaf, cuts down on the grouchies."

"Pine needle."

"All right. Well, some were on the cab floor and stuck to the pedals. Munhausen transferred some on his boots when he drove, they got onto Powers' protective foot coverings, his booties, when he drove and transferred off when he walked up to the house."

"We nearly caught this guy on a hill."

"I'm working on that."

"Abby–"

"Gibbs, I'm only one woman trying to do forensics on three bodies and three crime scenes in barely three days on one salary. I'm working on it. I _can_ tell you, however, that the fibers under DiGiuseppi' fingernails definitely came from the front passenger seat." She points into the cabin. "You can see where she scratched it right there. She knew she was going to die, and she was marking her transport."

"She was smart."

"It was the right thing to do, it just sucks that it couldn't help her."

Gibbs gives her a wry smile as he wipes more of the grease mark away, then he leans in, lightly kissing her forehead.


	11. Dated Evidence

Chapter Eleven  
Dated Evidence

It's late in the afternoon when DiNozzo, unable to escape the frustration that fills the bullpen, answers the phone, then calls "Boss?"

"What've you got, DiNozzo?"

"Lieutenant Carpenter on three."

Gibbs picks up the phone, the conversation is very brief. "Gear up," he commands as he hangs up.

"Where're we going?"

"_DiGiuseppi's_ place. Guess who was dating Donald Victor Powers for three months while Kevin Sollecito was in An Nasiriyah."

xxx

When the Agents pull up in front of the DiGiuseppi home, the street and driveway are crowded. Two days ago a single car had been parked in the driveway, now nine surround the house. On the front door hangs a wreath of flowers. Gibbs recognizes only one of the cars at the curb, it belongs to the Metro PD Homicide Detective.

They park across the street and when they cross to the door Gibbs knocks and a few moments later a young man dressed in a blue suit answers. When they enter, the living room is crowded with eleven men and women, several others visible through the arch into the dining room. The atmosphere is funeral and it's not difficult to pick out Charlotte and Frank DiGiuseppi. She's dressed entirely in black with a black veil, he wears a black suit; both of them are shrouded in misery that can almost be touched.

Jeffery Carpenter comes in from the dining room and approaches the agents, his voice low. "I found out she was dating Powers from one of her friends. I wanted to wait until we were together. They don't know Powers did it yet."

Gibbs considers this a bad time for a revelation, but seeing the look in Charlotte DiGiuseppi's eyes as they approach, he decides it's best that Carpenter has waited. She appears to be so tightly strung that she must be only seconds from snapping again and this is the worst possible time.

They must gather what information they may, quickly, before it's lost in a tsunami of emotion.

"McGee, Ziva, work the crowd. DiNozzo, you're with us."

x

When they enter the dining room Charlotte turns to them, her expression hopeful. "I didn't know you were here. Do you have any news about Christine?"

"Possibly. There is something we have to check."

"Before we talk," Carpenter interjects, "we need to speak to Lakeisha Seaforth. Is there a room we may use?"

"Err, oh, sure, but why do you need to–?"

"Yes," Frank DiGiuseppi tells them. They can see he's decided the fastest way to get answers is to get this conversation, whatever it might be, out of the way quickly. "This way." He and Charlotte lead the trio down a hall to the master bedroom, closing the door behind them. "What can you tell us about Christine?"

"DiNozzo, fill Mr. and Mrs. Sollecito in." The man will give a carefully edited version that should satisfy the bereaved parents for the moment.

When DiNozzo takes them back outside Carpenter says to Gibbs: "I'll get Seaforth and be right back." He returns less than a minute later with a black woman about Christine's age.

x

"Ms. Seaforth," Carpenter says as he closes the door, "would you tell Special Agent Gibbs what you told me earlier?"

The young woman wrings her hands together, only occasionally meeting Gibbs' eyes. She's very upset, and it takes considerable time and patience to draw out the story.

"I knew Teen pretty good, we hung out all the time, then there's the texts and all."

"What did you talk about?"

"Everything, you know?"

"Men?"

"Yeah. She told me, well, that is, she told me that while Kevin was in Iraq and all she met a guy a couple of months ago, three or four I think." She can't continue, eyes pressed into a handkerchief. It takes some time before she can recover.

"Where did she meet him?"

"At Kino's – a bar a few blocks away. She went out with him a few times, but she told me she wasn't serious about him."

"Do you know where she meets him?"

"A coupl'a places. He usually decided where, she said. He usta like to run things, she said. She didn't mine, said it saved her haven to do it, she could just go out, have a good time."

"Controlling?"

"Yeah. I wouldn' take it, but that was her thing."

"Did you know him?"

"Not really, we mostly talked about him, you know?"

"Does he live around here?"

"I think he's over near Adams Morgan somewhere, I'm not sure. She only went out with him a few times. Why? Is he the one–?"

"We're looking at a number of clues at this point," Gibbs cuts in. He doesn't want her to speculate; he wants her to lead them, not the other way around "Do you know how they kept in contact?"

"Teen said they used to chat a lot on-line, more often than they actually went out on dates. She said he was cheap, McDonald's cheap. She said his idea of up-scale was Burger King. She didn't like it; she liked to go out for good times. That's one of the reasons she broke up with him. He didn't like that."

"He didn't?"

"Teen says they argued to the end, he'd call, want her to come, she stopped taking his calls. He did it, didn' he?"

"Can you tell me anything else?"

"Yes, that was a lie. I mean about why she said she broke up with him. She was wearing a lot of makeup in those days, finally admitted he slapped her around. I don't know if he thought she was into it or if he was just getting mean but she didn't want to have anything to do with him after that day."

"Do you think she was afraid of him?"

"Teen wasn't afraid of nobody, but looking back she should've been scared shitless."

"Do you know if she told her family?"

"She didn't. She says she was embarrassed, but also her dad would've killed him if he found him."

"All right. Thank you."

"You won' tell me if he did it, will you?"

"No," Gibbs tells her, "we won't."

This is as hard for her to hear as they expect and they wait until she stops crying. She finally meets their eyes, misery consumed in fire. "Just find the fucker!"

x

McGee, with the parents' permission, is seated at the bureau in the girl's bedroom, analyzing her laptop, looking for information on the e-mail and chat messages. Charlotte has provided him with Christine's password, making examination of the system easy. Gibbs hopes it's easy enough and the man comes back with answers.

"Did you know your daughter was dating someone over the past few weeks?" Gibbs asks, having drawn the parents back into the privacy of the larger bedroom along with DiNozzo and Carpenter.

"No."

"Yes," Charlotte counters.

"_Who_?"

"Mister DiGiuseppi." He doesn't have to push, the man wants answers too.

"She told me she was seeing a boy named Donald something."

"Mrs. DiGiuseppi, please try to think." Carpenter urges. He can't lead her.

"I am! Powers. Yes, Powers, that's it."

"Did you know him?"

"No. Do you think _he's_–?"

"When was the last time she saw him?" He doesn't want to conversation to devolve into speculation, no matter how accurate it is.

"About two weeks ago, I was just getting home from shopping and I saw him for only for a moment when he was leaving the house as I was coming home. She'd broken up with him just before I arrived."

"How did he seem to take it?"

"Well, I didn't see his face, he was already walking down the street when I pulled up, but Christine said he was very upset. I just wish I'd thought of it sooner."

The Investigators feel the same way, though none of them will say it.

xx

"What've you got, McGee?" Gibbs asks as he enters Christine's bedroom, having sent DiNozzo out with Ziva to 'work the crowd'.

"I found a few of their exchanges and his ISP address. There's also a diary in Microsoft Word. I have to examine it more before I can tell you anything."

"Bag and tag it. Any clues where he sent his mail from?"

McGee doesn't tell Gibbs he'd just answered that question. "I'll let you know the minute I have it."


	12. Warp Speed

Chapter Twelve  
Warp Speed

"About time you got back," Gibbs says as he enters Autopsy at one in the afternoon, finding Ducky and Samantha working on the body of Robert Sherman.

"Good afternoon to you too," Ducky greets him with faux cheerfulness, not appreciating the greeting. "You're testy this afternoon."

"Bodies are piling up faster than we can keep up and we're no closer to finding this bastard."

"I'm well aware of that." He bites back anything more, there being no point in giving in to the frustration they all feel. "There hasn't been enough time to do a proper autopsy of Maria Sanchez as yet, all I am able to give you is that the murder weapon seems to be the same in both cases; a serrated, single edged weapon."

"Munhausen had a hunting knife among his gear in the SUV. What've _you_ got, Chicky?"

"_Chicky_?" Ducky looks to his assistant, wondering what he has missed while in court. When had she gone from 'that girl' to 'Chicky'?

Sammy shrugs. "It's a _long_ story, doctor," she catches Gibbs' eye, "which isn't really all that interesting."

"I can imagine."

"_Results_?"

"Ah." Ducky takes the conversation back, though Samantha had been asked. "Well, as you can undoubtedly see, Mr. Sherman is the victim of twenty-one puncture wounds, some shallower but the maximum depth is 7 inches. They are clustered about the heart and lungs and quite thoroughly destroyed all three organs. As near as I can tell, the second wound was the fatal one, it pierced the heart dead – if you'll pardon the reference – center." As he speaks, he points out the spots in particular. There are so many, so closely clustered, that Gibbs is forced to wonder how they could be told apart.

x

"There is relatively little bleeding among the later wounds, all of which were delivered left handed; while bruising and damage to the neck indicates he was being held down with the right hand."

"I got all that already at the scene, tell me something I don't already know."

"Indeed?" He looks to Sky, who shrugs again, though her smile is somewhat tentative this time. "I'm going to have to take mornings off more often."

"Forget it."

"Well, there is, sadly, little more to tell that you haven't already 'got'. There was no attempt made to start even a perfunctory autopsy, this is a straightforward stabbing, though far more violent than was necessary. It is notable that someone with Mr. Powers training would use such 'overkill'. As I said, the second of twenty-one wounds was the fatal one."

"What about your psychological autopsy?"

"Well, this incident offers quite a bit of additional insight into his psychological state. There is more emotion in this killing, less of the methodical, preplanned measures indicated in his former attacks."

"He's breaking down."

"A murder spree does have a debilitating effect on the psyche, though he seems to have deteriorated more rapidly than, say, Charles Morley."

x

"How did Morley's trial go?" He'd been annoyed by Ducky's absence all morning, necessary though it had been. Ducky had been called as an 'Expert Witness', more for the physical facts than the psychological.

"Oh, cut and dry. I was on the stand for some two hours, but I believe I can speak confidently when I say the Assistant District Attorney will almost certainly gain a conviction in this case. And well deserved too. I tell you, Jethro, looking into that man's eyes, I feel it is very important that he be placed behind some high walls at the earliest opportunity. Not only is there abominable, almost pathological hatred in that man, but he took a great pleasure in my descriptions of the wounds he inflicted upon those two poor women. No, Jethro, he cannot go to prison soon enough."

Having already testified last week, Gibbs agrees, but "Out of our hair. What about Powers?"

"Well, I was rather hoping you could tell me, I've been rather out of the loop all morning. I will say that, though you're looking for a psychological autopsy, I would far prefer a physical one,"

"Same here."

"I do not as yet have enough knowledge of the man to begin."

"Begin with why he's 'Pimmy Jalmer'."

x

"That is actually the easiest place to begin. Mr. Palmer has had a recent upsurge in notoriety in the field of Forensic Pathology via the medium of Timothy's novels, though I suspect he would happily defer the distinction. So thinly veiled a reference in the translation of initials cannot be mistaken. Even if there were not the distinct connection between them of their having attended the same Medical School as classmates, Powers cannot have missed the connection to Jimmy. Mister Palmer will, in due time, be the Medical Examiner that Powers never will be. His successes only enhance the emotions Powers feels at his own failure. In a sense, Mr. Palmer is experiencing the same lamentable situation I did when it came to the matter of Vincent Hanlan and his family."

"Mother and son psychos,"

"who went after the people who testified and were the most significant at his trial."

That case will never be over long enough for either of them. It had started with the dramatic delivery of bodies soaked in gallon drums of formaldehyde, and had nearly ended with Ducky's death. "Do you think there's any chance Powers is extending his connection to Palmer beyond forging his name?"

The thought makes the blood drain from Ducky's face.

"Good Lord, I never considered! Mr. Palmer's mother lives alone in–"

"Got it covered. She's been under 24 hour protection since this started."

"I should have had more faith in your thoroughness, Jethro."

"Still leaves a lot of ground."

Ducky considers, now that he can ease his blood pressure spike. "The fictitious Pimmy Jalmer resides in Georgetown, where he lives something of a playboy lifestyle I suspect Mr. Palmer might envy if he were not happily married."

"And if he tried, Michelle would put him on your table herself."

"Heaven forbid. Still, despite a fictional predilection which Powers has already emulated – yes, Jethro, Miss DiGiuseppi was indeed violated post mortem – I don't see what more can be reliably gleaned from the connection. Pimmy Jalmer is, after all, a minor character in Timothy's novels. No, I think we will have to look more to real life in predicting the actions of our psychotic pathologist."

"Real life is a problem, Duck."

x

When Gibbs fills him in on what had been learned about DiGiuseppi's relationship with Powers, it adds a grizzly dimension to the horror.

"This was neither a crime of passion and opportunity nor a spontaneous jealous rage. He must have had this act planned for some time, having stolen a vehicle and brought all the necessary paraphernalia with him. Quite probably he had been provoked by Miss DiGiuseppi's ending of their brief relationship, but this is a coldly calculated act."

"A lot more than that," Gibbs differs, "or he would've stopped with her. This is a rampage. Sanchez, Sherman, his wife now, where will it end?"

"In Mr. Powers' mind it may well not end, certainly not with these five persons. The trigger has been pulled, and with each act of violence his manner, indicative of his mental state, continues to fragment. The autopsy report he did on Miss DiGiuseppi, if she was the prime mover, is by no means as efficient as the one he did on Corporal Sollecito. Everything was filled in, but the handwriting shows a marked decrease in lucidity, and in Miss Sanchez's case he made no attempt at all to document anything. The attack on Mr. Sherman is characterized by savagery, for want of a better word."

"DiNozzo tells me he assaulted a woman in a fake medical office enough that she needed stitches. He tried to cut off her breasts."

Sammy's face goes white behind her mask, but she says nothing. Both men pretend not to notice; they allow her to deal with it as well as she can.

"That seems to be an initial phase in his building to this spree," Ducky continues without pause, turning more toward Gibbs so his back is to his assistant. "Most crimes of this type are characterized by a development phase that –" He is interrupted by Gibbs' phone.

"Yeah, Gibbs."

/Boss, DiNozzo, we've finally got a trace on Powers. He covered his tracks well, but slipped up. I just got off the line with the company that supplied a Taser to Powers. It took a lot of calls, you've no idea how many companies sell–/

"Clock's ticking, DiNozzo."

/Yes, well, it was delivered to a 'Mailboxes Etcetera' outlet in Glassmanor, Maryland. I checked with one of the bigger facilities in Maryland that supply medical equipment, they don't have a 'Powers', but they do have a 'P. Jalmer' as a customer and sent supplies to that address./

"Your car gassed up?"

/Already covered./

"Meet me in the garage."

xxx

When the two teams approach the 'Mailboxes Etc' outlet in the middle of a long avenue DiNozzo and Ziva, in the trailing car, pull to a stop in a space across and down the street, well short of the shop. Gibbs and McGee continue past the store to pull into a space near the far corner. Both teams are in positions where they can see the front of the shop. Gibbs and McGee return and enter while Tony and Ziva keep the block under surveillance while listening on their radios.

The outer room is little more than a collection of sample boxes, writing surfaces and postage information displays fronting a long counter before an open door to the storage room. A young woman wearing a brown uniform greets them with a broad, customer friendly smile. She appears to be about 17, and Gibbs judges her most stressful duty is selecting the right packing box for a customer.

"Can I help you?"

Gibbs shows his ID. "We need to ask you a few questions about one of your clients."

She hesitates. "I'm not sure I can do that."

"Why not?"

She looks about, but she is alone. "Well, our clients use our company for a certain amount of anonymity and–"

"He's a serial murderer."

That is enough to obliterate the woman's 'professional – helpful' smile. "Mum – mum – mur – mu - murderer?"

"Yes, so you can help us, or I can come back here with a warrant and make you."

Now she's completely flustered. "I – I – The – That – that is – what do you need to know?"

"One of your customers, Pimmy Jalmer, has a box here. We need his address."

"I – I'm – that is – ah, not really sure I should do that without my boss here."

"McGee."

"Boss?"

"Read the lady her rights and cuff her."

"_WAIT_!" she throws up her hands to ward them off, "I'll _do _it! Just give me a _second_!" She consults her computer, having to try three times because her hands are shaking too hard. "Here is it – I mean, _here it is_. He liv – lives at 2548 Roanoke Avenue!"

This address is far from DiGiuseppi's and Munhausen's homes, though that's hardly a surprise. Gibbs is confident that records will show he recently moved, he doesn't care right now. They'll check this location and, if Powers is there, he'll be taken with minimal fuss. It's wholly obvious why he used this far removed site for his deliveries, he obviously thought no connection would be made. Gibbs smiles at the shaken woman. "Thank you. Have a nice day." He starts to turn, then stops. "You won't do anything foolish like trying to call him, will you?"

"N – n – n – n – no sir!"

He just nods, allowing his silence to convey how bad an idea that would be.

x

When they are outside, Tim turns to his boss. "You weren't really going to arrest her, were you?"

"Nah!"

Tony, in the surveillance car, makes sure his radio is turned off before turning to Ziva. "That was cold."

"I think Gibbs is running out of patience."

"Ya think?" He looks out the window in time to see Gibbs glaring at him and turns on the radio. "Yes, boss?"

/Nice of you to join us, DiNozzo. I'd hate for there to have been any shooting in there./

"It was only off for a sec–"

/Rule Number 5./

"Never be unreachable."

/I'm gonna engrave that one into the back of your head when this is over. Put it in gear, we're taking this bastard down _now_./

"On your six, boss."

xx

The address cited by the frightened clerk is far back the way they'd come. When they turn onto the indicated street Tony and Ziva stop just short of the target, a three story walkup, Gibbs and McGee stop a bit beyond. They're out in moments, about to converge on the building when Ziva yells "SHOOTER ON TWO!" and ducks behind a parked car in the same moment.

All four weapons are out and trained upward at the rightmost window and the outward thrust hand holding a pistol even before they're all under cover. The elevated gunman fires first, three shots aimed not at the Agents but directly across the street. When they glance across, their hearts seize as an elderly man falls to his right side against the far building.

"Damn him!" Gibbs exclaims as the gun is withdrawn from the window, leaving no angle to return fire. "McGee, help him and call it! DiNozzo, you and Ziva cut around back, I'll go up the front!"

x

Careful despite his outrage, Gibbs charges the front door, kicks it hard and it crashes inward. He takes the stairs two at a time but stops at the wall, not exposing himself in the long hall. A door opens hard enough to slam into the wall behind it and when he looks around the corner he sees Powers at the far end of the hallway heading for the rear door. He ducks as Powers fires a shot at him which slams into the open door. He returns fire, misses, Powers is already charging down the back stairs and through the door. As he charges down the hall, a glance into the studio apartment is all Gibbs needs to see the bound and gagged woman laying on the futon upon the floor. He stops at the rear door, not about to shove it open and take a bullet.

He doesn't need to, for through the wood he hears a racing motor and a squeal of tires over staccato gunfire. Pushing open the door, he looks down into a parking lot and a blue car racing out through the driveway on the left, DiNozzo and David continuing to fire after him.

"McGEE!"

/Boss, he's out, turning left!/ McGee reports through the earwig. Traffic allows only right, he is heading the wrong way down the street.

"DiNOZZO!"

"On him!" They run for their car still at the curb as Gibbs dashes through the building for the front door.

"McGee, woman in the studio apartment on the right - alive!"

/I'll see to her, I have an ambulance on the way for this man!/

x

Gibbs reaches the door and leaps down the stairs, lands on his feet and charges for his own car as DiNozzo and David launch his car in pursuit of the madman. Gibbs jumps behind the wheel with barely a glance at McGee across the street, turns the key and stomps upon the gas pedal while calling into the radio strapped to his wrist. "DiNozzo!"

/We are four blocks north of your position,/ Ziva reports sharply over screeching tires and roaring motor. /Our speed is 72, now on the fifth block and accelerating./

Gibbs stabs the control on the wrist radio, increasing its sensitivity so he can drive while maintaining contact. "McGee, call the local LEOs, get them to set up roadblocks, spike strips, whatever they've got."

/On it!/

/Gibbs, we are turning left at the gas station on your left,/ she reports over the protesting shriek of rubber. A new, higher pitch joins the background. /We have an RMP in pursuit,/ she informs him unnecessarily

"I see the lights. I'm two blocks behind him. I'll come up and alert him you're the good guys."

/Appreciated. I should hate for him to PIT us./

"Just keep on that bastard."

/No problem, I have been giving Mario Andretti lessons./

x

The siren of the radio motor patrol car helps clear traffic forward, but every intersection is a reason for Gibbs to swallow his heart as first one, then two, then three cars before him charge across without regard for lights, signs, cross traffic and, in the lead car's case, pedestrians. A glance at his board warns Gibbs he's topping 90 through residential streets.

Powers doesn't attempt to make any turns, accelerating through one intersection after another. At one he barely avoids a pickup truck which puts on a burst of speed to rush out of the way of the speeding cars.

/Boss,/ McGee radios, /I have the LEOs HQ; they've alerted your unit, he knows who he's chasing. Additional units are mobilized to intercept./

"Good work."

Up ahead there's another near miss as a red sedan, with right of way, barely stops in time to avoid a collision and is nearly rammed from behind.

x

/You're headed for 495,/ McGee tells him, switching between the police band and their own.

"_Great_." The advantage that this will take the chase away from residential areas is countered by the added speed available on the highway. If Powers gets on it, many more vehicles can be placed in harm's way.

/Gibbs,/ Ziva calls, /he is almost certainly headed for the on-ramp./

Gibbs has almost caught the Metro unit. "I have visual." It's just in time to see Powers' car execute a heart-wrenching maneuver around two more slowly moving vehicles, nearly grazing the right forward one as he flies up the ramp at better than 95. "McGee, did you tell them this bastard took a header off a cliff to escape last time?"

/Told them./

Gibbs, last in line in this insane phalanx, twists the wheel sharply as he rockets up the ramp onto the highway, barely managing to avoid a white Buick in the merging lane. Ahead and pulling away, Powers cuts across the center to the left lane and cuts off a red Mazda which veers left in a shriek of tires.

Traffic is light for this hour with, fortunately, many spaces between cars. The four cars rocket past as though the others are standing still. A glimpse at his board warns Gibbs he's pushing 100. He's losing ground, falling behind Powers and the others and he increases speed.

Powers weaves maniacally from one lane to another between one car after another in attempts to keep at least one between himself and DiNozzo, who has to cut back and forth to keep up past cars hurtling at the posted limit. Powers cuts past, around and between cars, forcing some to veer away to evade collision at ever increasing speeds. The sparsely packed cars allow for extensive jockeying as he tries to evade his pursuers.

/Boss, they're going to deploy spike strips across the left lane, 4 miles up./ McGee reports.

"Get that, David?"

/Copy. We shall try to force him into that lane./

"You've got less than 2 minutes before he reaches it." Gibbs accelerates again, but far in front Powers shifts suddenly into the middle lane, cuts in front of a green car with inches to spare, forces it right where it collides with a blue sedan. "This bastard doesn't care who he takes out!"

In his mirror Gibbs sees the flashing lights of another marked MPDC unit following, he estimates it's about fifteen seconds back, close to half a mile to the rear. He hopes it can catch up in time. He can spare no more than a glance as he cuts into a space around a black Capri. Cars doing the limit seem to shoot back toward him like meteors.

/Coming up on the mark./

"DiNozzo, it's now or never!"

DiNozzo pushes his car to the limit, careens around Powers at 125 in an effort to force him to the left lane while both rocket past other cars. Powers veers sharply right, slams into DiNozzo's car and knocks him right, forces him into the slow lane where he must brake in a shriek of tires to avoid slamming into the back of an SUV. He comes back out into the middle lane, barely slowed and shoots past the larger vehicle, still only seconds behind his quarry. They both pass the spike strip that flicks by them almost too quickly to be seen.

/Sorry, Gibbs, it is never./

x

DiNozzo must veer sharply left to avoid plowing into a car ahead of him. At nearly double the limit, the impact will be deadly for all. He falls in line behind Powers with a quarter inch to spare.

When Gibbs, seeing the RMP closing behind him, flashes past the right side of the car DiNozzo had barely avoided, he glimpses a horrified woman with two children in the back. This has gone too far already, and Powers is growing more reckless in his efforts to evade capture. He flashes past a white Pontiac, forcing it to cut sharply right and it fishtails, spins into the right lane.

"Give it up, DiNozzo, _fall back_! Let the LEOs take it."

/Copy./ There's raw anger in Ziva's voice as DiNozzo's car begins to decelerate. Gibbs applies his own brakes and Powers and the LEO pull away quickly, the LEO behind Gibbs approaches quickly and rockets past.

x

A second later, from over 300 feet, Gibbs and his team can only watch as Powers again cuts into the left lane but this time the car he cuts off has no place to go. His front bumper catches Powers' rear, the car tries to pull out and is caught, pulled about into a spin that flings Powers, as the fulcrum, into the concrete abutment. The explosive force blasts Powers about and out from the barrier at nearly 130. He shoots across two lanes to slam into the side of a van forward of the driver, sending it into a clockwise spin into Powers and the two twist in opposite directions in a deadly ballet.

The first car hit, unable to regain control in the left lane, spins counterclockwise. Its tires catch and, forced against momentum, it flips over and rolls side over side as the van arcs into the middle lane to slam into a Jeep which has tried to swerve to avoid the rolling car on the left.

Powers' car is flung up behind the Jeep, its front wheels catch the tilting vehicle and the impact bats it back to the left lane where a shrieking car slams into the driver side door still going 70. The impact flips Powers completely over the Jeep to land upside down with a resounding crash, an explosion of glass and steel.

The pursuing patrol car barely manages to shift right and skid to a halt inches short of what's left of the Jeep. Powers' car skids on and on, slides upside down along the road, the man ground by the rushing asphalt.

Ahead of the agents and LEOs, all action grinds to a smoking halt, the noise quieting. Smoke rises from the first car Powers had hit, darkening to indicate a growing fire. The LEOs are the first out of their cars, the Agents leave theirs where they are in the growing crowd of halted vehicles and make their way into the devastation.

When the tape of the accident recorded in the dash camera of the leading RMP is reviewed later, it will reveal that the collisions lasted for seven seconds and covered a span of 700 feet. Five vehicles are damaged, the toll ranging from a crushed front end to almost total destruction. Powers' car lies upside down at the head of a three hundred foot trail of blood. There will be accounted in this disaster three minor injuries, two serious, three critical – and one dead.


	13. The Soft Goodbye

Chapter Thirteen  
The Soft Goodbye

Gibbs, DiNozzo, David, the LEOs in the pursuing patrol cars, five other patrol units, four EMT ambulances and volunteers have done what they can for survivors. Traffic has been cut off, backed out and rerouted. A collection of emergency vehicles line both sides of the highway to aid the injured, and a Maryland morgue truck has taken charge of what remains of John Victor Powers. A gory trail runs nearly 300 feet, extending from the wreckage of his car top to what is left of the vehicle. None of the agents want to see what's left of the body.

Gibbs, having secured the wreck, turns to survey the damage all about him. Five vehicles stand or lie in a multitude of orientations; debris metallic, plastic, glass and human litter the roadway for nearly two city blocks. Several cars still smoke or steam from fires or ruptured lines. The cost in damage is enormous, in life far more so. Powers is the only one who died here, Gibbs counts his tragic victims among the lost.

While some satisfaction can be gained by the knowledge that Powers has paid the full price for his crimes, it is small satisfaction indeed. Gibbs watches silently as a black limousine bearing one of the very few people with clearance to pass the roadblocks approaches to within several yards. A red haired woman gets out of the back seat and walks toward him past the multitude of LEOs and Emergency Service personnel. When she stops, her voice is pitched so only he may hear. "Jethro."

"It's days like this that make me long for Mexico."

"How is Justine Sherman?" She'd been taken when her husband Robert had been stabbed to death on the road above Compton Lake.

"McGee says he hadn't started on her, he was probably trying to decide on the right place unless he was so crazed he was going to do her there. She's alive – but she's a widow." No good will come out of these days.

"McGee did find a lot on Powers computer," he continues, focusing on details of the case so he doesn't have to see the phantom faces of the dead before his eyes. "The e-mails he and DiGiuseppi had been exchanging were sent from there. In one of the last replies to his 'begging note', his attempt to get her back, she said Sollecito was coming in this week and it was definitely over between them. I think that's what tipped him over the edge."

"What about the 'Pimmy Jalmer' business?" She wants this finished. Once all the answers are in, they can shove this case aside. There will be no courts, no lawyers, nothing else.

"Copies of 'Deep Six' and 'Rock Hollow' were on the computer as eBooks. Powers recognized the thinly veiled reference to Palmer, knew Palmer was having the career and future he never would, that he's been banned from. I think it was too much for him to take. Hurting a woman at that club got him banned from 'Taiwan On' and he's not welcome in any of those circles where he's recognized. Meantime, with no outlet for him, Palmer is having the career he can only dream about and Sollecito has the girl who turned him down." He just wants off this case, to forget everything. He can't.

"Maybe the 'autopsies' were a way of justifying himself, that he could do the job as well as anyone else, or better. I don't know, Ducky's the guy with the Forensic Psychology degree, ask him. I'm just the leg man."

"You're considerably more, Jethro."

xxx

Hours have passed. In Autopsy, Donald Mallard slides the tray containing the body of Robert Sherman into a cooler and closes the door. He is gratified he will not need to set another one aside later for the man's widow. He is equally gratified not to have Powers' body, NCIS hadn't fought hard for this corpse. In the other coolers are the bodies of Kevin Sollecito, Christine DiGiuseppi and Maria Sanchez; honored dead all and far too many. It's time to call it a night, a weekend and many other less pleasant things. On Monday Mister Palmer will return and this world will resume normality, if the term 'normal' may ever apply to NCIS.

He turns around and finds Samantha Sky standing next to the first silver table. She's already in her street attire, her coat closed.

"Well," she says softly, "I guess this is 'goodbye'." She glances away, and then forces herself to meet his eyes again. "I want you to know I really enjoyed working with you. You've taught me a lot, and you've been a good friend. Thank you."

"It has been an interesting experience for both of us."

She tries to laugh, but it is tinged with sadness. "I guess you'll be relieved to see me gone. You and Mr. Palmer can get things back to normal here."

Confronted with so bald and accurate a truth, he's unsure what to say. "I would not say that, my dear."

"No, you're a very, very kind man, but I know I tend to outlast my welcome." She tries to chuckle, it comes out hollow. "Three days became almost three weeks, after all."

Has it actually been less than three weeks? So much has happened, both good and bad, that it doesn't seem so. He had been open with Gibbs and with O'Mallory, two people who he knew would not break a confidence, but how can he say to this inoffensive woman that he'd been counting the days until her departure?

Initial fascination and refreshment at her joie de vivre had slowly turned to exasperation and annoyance, then to aggravation barely hidden by his best efforts as her ebullience had strained his patience, but now that the moment has come…

The longer he searches for words, so unlike him, the clearer she sees his conflict. "You don't have to say it, I know." She glances about, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I've never been one for goodbyes, so I'll just say 'hasta la vista'."

"Until we see one another again, Sammy."

She steps up to him, comes up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Goodbye, Ducky." Then, before she can succumb to the emotions she tries so hard to contain, she walks out through the sliding doors, calls for and steps onto the elevator … and is gone.

xx

Ducky finishes the last of the report upon his desk, at least the last of what he wants to write. Standing up, he goes to the lighting controls by the door, at the same time reaching for his hat and coat. Turning off the lights, he steps through the sliding doors to the elevator, but when it arrives Gibbs is already aboard.

"Heading out?" Gibbs asks as the doors close and they descend to the garage.

"Believe it or not, I have reached the limit of my endurance for Autopsies in this case." The doors open and they get off, walking slowly toward their respective cars.

"This is one case I suppose you're glad to be over."

"Indubitably. I do not look forward to explaining to Mister Palmer on Monday how his fame has spread."

"I guess he'll never live down any of McGee's books."

"Will any of us?"

Gibbs doesn't want to consider it. "Sky gone?"

He nods. "About a half hour ago. I shall be forwarding a glowing report on her proficiency to the Medical School."

"Glad she's gone?"

He considers the question, then shakes his head. "No, Jethro, I'm surprised to say I am not. I actually expected I would be, but she is the kind of person that grows on you. Speaking of which," he looks up at his friend, "what is this 'Chicky' reference between you two earlier?"

Gibbs considers. "Someday I might tell you."

"I shall await it with bated breath."

"Well, don't hold it too long."

Ducky puts his hand into his coat pocket and stops walking. "Oh dear."

"What is it?"

"My keys, I took them out to unlock a cabinet and then laid them upon my desk. I shall have to go back. I'll see you on Monday."

"Good night."

xx

When the elevator doors open, Ducky's annoyance turns to surprise when he finds the lights shining through the sliding glass doors. He remembers turning them off before leaving, they're now on. More than that, there are very uncommon sounds emanating from within the room. As he approaches the door, feeling he has a minor mystery to solve, the doors part and the sound becomes louder and instantly identifiable.

Violin music.

He stops just inside the door; it closes behind him as he stands staring in ever mounting surprise.

A few feet away, at the foot of the second silver table, Samantha Sky stands with her back to him. A violin is tucked under her chin and sweet music fills the air. He recognizes the somber melody as 'The Soft Goodbye' and remains silent, listening to the mournful notes. She plays with feeling and depth he hasn't heard in a considerable time. The music quite washes away the surprise he feels both at her presence and her skill.

When the last notes fade into the ether, he is about to announce his presence with a quiet clearing of his throat when she begins immediately another equally plaintive melody, 'Shenandoah', whose tear evoking notes are replaced in their turn with a more lively 'Contradiction'." Ducky steps closer, unheard, until he's directly behind her.

Moving from the spritely end of this classic piece, she begins an even more joyous rendition of 'Granuelle's Dance', her fingers and bow move so quickly on the strings it seems a wonder. The ecstatic climax comes with a flourish and the room seems to vibrate with joy.

x

"That was astounding."

Sammy whirls with a loud gasp of utter fright and she retreats to collide with the table, her wide eyes catching the lights high above. "_**Doctor**_!"

"I'm terribly sorry, my dear, I assure you I didn't mean to frighten you. I too am surprised."

"How long've you _been_ here?"

"I arrived during the third measure of 'the Soft Goodbye'."

"I'm sorry, it's, I'm not breaking, I mean I–" She forces herself to stop and try to regain her composure. When she can speak calmly, she says, "I couldn't bring myself to leave, not how I felt, I had to wash away the … the depression. Practicing down here always makes me feel good and it's better than any other practice hall I've ever had. The acoustics are perfect in here, I practice here after … that is, I have a concert this weekend."

"Concert?" This is the first he's heard of concerts or anything else, and the most he's gotten out of the disjointed explanation.

She sets the violin and bow into the support of the case laying atop the autopsy table and closes it, the seconds this buys allowing her to frame a coherent answer. "I'm Fifth Violin with the 'Washington Renaissance'; we're a Chamber Orchestra. Between school and work I have to find places to practice. When I realized how good this room would be for rehearsal, I've been practicing every evening after you left. I wasn't sure if you'd approve, so I kind of … did it after you left."

"_Every night_?" Sometimes she did not leave until quite late, he even more so. If she returned after then, she was probably here until midnight on most weekday nights.

"The room is perfect," she insists.

"So I heard." She had sounded astonishingly good. He'd no idea she possessed such talent.

"I usually wait in the Café upstairs until I'm sure you're gone for the night, then I come down for an hour or two to practice. Remember, my first day here, I started to tell you about my other job, then Agent Gibbs came in and I never had the chance to finish?"

x

The memory bites him sharply; he recalls that day well. She'd told him she can earn as much as $500 for a night's work and had teased him that it was working as a Call Girl, giggling at his astonishment. She'd been about to tell him the real reason, now so clear, but Gibbs had come in, distracted them with a demand for a report of the case of John Megalo and they'd never resumed that conversation. Later, as his feelings for her changed to annoyance and frustration, he'd been less inclined to learn more about her than what mattered for her job.

"How long have you been playing?" he asks, now very much interested.

"Since I was seven. It's one of the two things in my life I _really_ enjoy and for a time I was torn between which one I wanted to choose for my career. Finally I just decided not to choose. I'm not First Violin, but I'm … pretty fair."

She is far too modest. "You are more than 'fair', my dear."

"Thank you. You're very kind."

"No, my dear, I am _not_. I am thoughtless, hard-hearted and small-souled."

"_No_!"

"But I am. I allowed my feelings, my … emotions to cause me to be quite unfair to you. I learned something tonight, _after_ our last minutes together, that I should have gone out of my way to learn three weeks ago, rather than to make a cursory and superficial attempt to get to know you. Your initial brevity of tenure made me careless in that I did not attempt to learn more than what was on the surface. Then when your time was extended I allowed growing antipathy for your élan to lead me to treat you _most_ unfairly."

x

"I – I don't know what to say. I know I tend to aggravate people even though I try not to. You're one of the very few not to blow up at me by the end."

"I'm embarrassed to say I nearly did on occasion."

"Sorry."

"No, _I_ am sorry."

"And I did very much want you to know, and wasn't sure how to say it, that I enjoyed my time with you very much." She stops, hesitant to speak, but knows this will be her last chance to say it. "I've been giving it a _lot_ of thought, you know, my M.E. … and when I graduate … I was hoping I might apply to work here at NCIS."

"My dear, I should sincerely hope that you do. I would like to have you back." He glances about the white room, feeling like he's recovering from his small-souled state. "In fact," he tells her, looking down into her pale blue eyes, "if you are willing, I would like to wipe the slate clean, as it were. Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me this evening, so that I might have the chance to get to know you properly?"

Her familiar delight is back in full force. "I'd love to!"

x

He extends his hand toward the door, she picks up the violin case and her coat, but before they can leave the elevator door opens and Supervisory Special Agent Melanie Kelman leads Kenneth Templeton and Patrick Larsen into the room. She's carrying a three foot long, black insulated case by the attached strap.

"What have you there?" Ducky inquires, feeling dinner moving far into the distance.

"Your next mystery, courtesy of NCIS West Field Office, Camp Pendleton," she sets the case upon the silver table, draws back the long zipper and pushes the flexible material apart.

"_Oh wow_!" Sammy exclaims, surprise tinged with regret, "and in my last minute too." She looks up to the man beside her. "I don't suppose I could get an extension to stay for this?"

"I'm sorry, my dear, but Medical School awaits," he looks back at the case, "though admittedly this is enviable." He looks up to Kelman, not touching the long, plastic enclosed contents of the bag. "I expect you have a fascinating story behind this?"

x

In the case is a woman's right arm, the gender apparent to all by its size and slimness. It extends from shoulder, where the joint had been separated, to fingers. Tan exclusion on the third finger shows where a slim band had been removed. That exclusion is rounded on the top, indicating a circular setting about a quarter inch wide. The arm is wrapped securely in plastic and even without touching it he can feel the cold emanating from it. A refrigerated transport has evidently brought it across the country from California.

"First Lieutenant Kay Z. Effox, ID number 056694026," Kelman tells him, her phenomenal memory freeing her of the need to ever consult notes, "was transferred from her R&D assignment at Little Creek Amphibious Base to Camp Pendleton, California. Effox and her family departed from her leased house near Little Creek two days ago, 1430 hours. The truck bearing their belongings had started out the day before at 0900 hours. The family stayed that day at a hotel near the airport and traveled west the following day by commercial airline, flight…"

Catching the faintly amused look in Ducky's eyes, she breaks off. She's not reporting to the Director. "The family arrived a day ahead of the truck and when it got there they started unpacking. This was in a crate in the 14-year-old daughter Naomi's bedroom. Neighbors say they heard the screams half a block away. They called the MPs even before the family could. Altogether, it wasn't the best welcome to a new post."

"I dare say."

Ducky pulls on a fresh pair of gloves and gingerly removes the arm from the case, careful not to close a hand about it and smudge any evidence. He can easily see the fingerprints raised by a thin dusting of powder, leaving few spots that may be safely touched. There have certainly been and will be many exclusionary fingerprints to be done before they can hope to identify who put this arm into the crate. Sadly, no fingerprints may be used to identify her; the final joint of each finger has been severed.

"Can you estimate a T.O.D.?"

When Ducky looks past the arm he catches the smallest of wry smiles, "To paraphrase what I once told one of your counterparts on the subject of a Marine's lower leg, 'you find me a liver in this arm and I'll give you a time of death'."

x

Sammy has obtained two headrests and set them on the silver table, he rests the arm across them. Though he cannot give a ToD, it's not difficult to estimate a minimum time from the report. That the arm shows no indication of decay is also helpful, at least in a negative sense. It is cold from transport, but that doesn't tell him enough. It will soon be colder still, secured in one of the units lining the side wall.

"Note the condition of both shoulder joint and fingertips – such as they are, that is. Blood has not flowed from the veins and capillaries to stain the tissues, in plain English no livor mortis."

"Plain English?" Templeton asks.

"Whether our lady bled out or her blood was removed, subsequent to death the arm was surgically amputated from the shoulder at the ball joint. The fingers were severed as well with the same care, rather than the brute force of, say, a hammer and chisel. There is also very little decay, but these points here," he indicates them with a silver probe, "are indicative that the flesh was frozen at least once, possibly several times, but I will be able to tell you a minimum number of times after my examination.

"No, this reminds me of another case you will want to consult Agent Gibbs and his team upon. I had thought that case closed, though if it is then I fear we are opening a brand new one."

To be continued:

Next Episode: 'Pieces'. Who dismembered a woman after death and why ship her across the country?


End file.
